


How You Came To Be Mine

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Creature Draco Malfoy, Creature Fic, HP: EWE, M/M, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: It may have begun innocently, with too much firewhiskey, but there is a chance that Luna is right. There is no accident here. Possessive!Draco, sort of a creature fic but not really? Post-Hogwarts, Non-epilogue compliant, HPDM slash.





	1. Part One: It Will Start With Too Much Firewhiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story that has undergone major renovation (not plot, just editing. Also upped the rating for safety). Way back when, when I first discovered Fanfics, it was a possessive creature story that made me realise Drarry was my OTP. I figured it was time to try one. But my attempt to do something different led to this...weirdness. I hope it ended up being coherent, at bare minimum. Reviews!? Always helpful.  
> Just in case you want to ask:  
> But, Professor Drarrycannon, What is a Curupira?  
> I'm not even going to tell you, Harry. You'll find out soon enough.  
> #Starchild  
> #thecharacterstillaren'tmine.

 

Draco threw himself across the backseat and over Harry's lap, grounding down and drawing sharp, slow, torturous circles with his tongue as he was re-admitted into Harry's mouth. Harry grabbed Draco's dress robe lapels, drawing their bodies flush, gasping for air as Draco assaulted him. Draco's hands were everywhere; one moment in his hair, the next running down his neck and across his shoulders.

They both smelled like whisky, but in a fresh, cedar and smoke kind of way, and it was sort of pleasant. There was also the undercurrent of what had to be _Draco_ , and Harry liked that too. He tried to keep his eyes closed, but it was difficult with Draco's hair brushing over them and making him shiver pleasantly. The silent hushed darkness of the interior of the car was making him very aware of how loud kissing was, and he was trying desperately not to focus on it. He also kept fighting the urgent desire to just look at Draco, but he was in no condition to focus or fight any urge at all. As he tried to ignore all the tiny details of what was happening, he felt the inappropriate laughter bubble back up inside him.

"Draco, wait,” he muttered against Draco’s face.

Draco waited.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered.

"Well,” Draco huffed, eyes rolling. “I was trying to snog you. You, on the other hand, are giggling like a teenager."

"But why are you snogging me?"

Draco shrugged, a motion that was usually dignified when it was on his shoulders, but now came off as sheepish and a bit unbalanced. "We're drunk," he muttered.

"Not that drunk," Harry mused, considering his own level of sobriety.

"Well, fine. I'll stop,” Draco said, putting distance between them. “I wasn't enjoying it that much anyway."

Harry laughed once more, "Bollocks. You're hard. Did you forget you were on my lap?"

He watched an affronted appear on Draco's face as he considered Harry's words, and he gave up his protests. He decided he could ignore the ridiculousness of the situation in favour of returning to the warm space between them. His cheeks were already getting cold again. He drew Draco's head back down to his (without much of a fight, he noted), and resumed earlier activities. Still, the laughter bubbled back up.

"Will you knock that off?" Draco said, sounding angrier now.

"I can't help it,” Harry said carefully. “I keep picturing Hermione's face seeing you on me."

"God, you are drunk."

"Too drunk to drive, that's for sure. As are you. Shit, they're coming."

"I'll have you know, Potter,” Draco said, rearranging Harry’s lapels carefully. “That I do _not_ drive. I'm Pureblood. I wouldn't. Death-traps, cars. Still, I bet I could…I'm really not that drunk."

"Right," Harry said, noting the definite slur in Draco's quick, though hushed, insistence. Still, the man somehow made the act of removing himself from Harry's lap look graceful, and he took himself back to the other side of the car in relative speed. Fast enough that when Neville opened the door, they sat on opposite sides, looking for all the world like they had just been waiting patiently. Harry silently thanked the universe for the night and darkness of the street, subtly adjusted billowing robes, and prayed that it was enough to hide the remaining evidence of his heated make-out session.

"Push _over_ , Hare,” Neville said, hopping on two feet, “It's freezing out here."

Harry moved but looked up at Neville in surprised confusion. "I thought you were driving?"

"Neville ran into Gloria and started drinking shortly thereafter,” Hermione’s voice came from outside the car. “I will be driving.”

"Hermione?” Harry said, drunken confusion making him even slower than normal.   
Erm, weren't you drinking too?"

"No,” Hermione said, trying to use the ‘don’t ask me questions’ voice she had. It never worked on him, and it wasn’t going to work now, considering how drunk he really was.

"You didn't drink?” Harry pressed on, brain working in overtime. “Free alcohol, ministry event, and you didn't drink."

"No,” Hermione ground out, “told you all; driving was a stupid idea. Ron, get in, it's freezing. Why did we do this again?"

"Authenticity. Red carpet. Some such non-essences…non-senses…non-... Wait, Hermione, you didn't _drink_?"

"Harry, will you stop."

"Merlin, the last time you….Oh, MY GOD…You're-"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I'm due in June. Now calm down."

"Rose must be over the moon."

"Reckon she will be when we tell her. I hadn't exactly planned on telling you like this."

"Congratulations, though," Harry leant forward from his now middle seat and patted both Ron, who was all but comatose, and Hermione on the shoulders.

The car lurched forward into traffic. Harry sat back and turned to look at Draco briefly before the laughter was back, and he was soon giggling so much that he couldn't breathe.

"What is wrong with him?" Hermione insisted, sitting very upright and looking around vigilantly.

She hated driving. He decided that was the only reason she was actually annoyed.

"No idea. Bloody irritating,” replied Draco. “He's been laughing like that for 20 minutes."

Draco spoke softly, looking out the window the whole time. The tone he used was cautious and barely above a whisper. Still, both Ron and Neville whipped round to look at the backseat, as though noticing for the first time that there was another human being with them.

"Uh…Hullo? I'm, er, staying at Harry's too?" Draco muttered, still quiet.

No one said anything. Harry looked around at all three of them and doubled over in laughter once again. Soon, drunkenness, late night hysteria, and the infectious nature of an uninhibited laugh got to them all. By the time they pulled onto the motorway, everyone was laughing just as hard, even Hermione.

Harry took a deep breath and settled back onto the seat. He leant delicately to his left, let his hand fall into the middle of the empty space. Empty, except for a slender, warm hand. On instinct, he linked his freezing fingers with it, and let his eyes slide shut. The hand squeezed his once, then stilled. He waited for a retreat from Malfoy, which he was sure was going to come, but the hand stayed in his; he remained deliberately statue still to make it last as long as possible, so still that he may have dozed off. When he woke, it was to a hurried withdrawal of the hand from his. He felt immediate, drunkenly, bereft. And cold.

Looking up, he belatedly realised that he had awoken because they were at the house, with Hermione expertly manoeuvring the car into a space on the street.

"Everyone's good staying where they normally do?" Harry called out as he dispelled the wards.

There were murmurs of agreement as everyone headed off in different directions, kicking off shoes haphazardly in the corridor; Neville to the front parlour, the only room where the sun came in in the morning; Ron and Hermione up the half staircase to the first-floor guest apartment. Harry started off down the corridor, knackered and excited for bed. Only when he heard a small cough did he remember the cause for the slight shuffling behind him. He turned to find Draco Malfoy politely removing his shoes and placing them side-by-each below an ornamental plant.

"I…uh, I don't have a usual place,”  Draco said apologetically, fiddling with his robes.

"Right. Er, sorry. I'll show you to a guest room."

Harry ignored what he read as a look of disappointment and wandered down the corridor once more. He was not going to allow one messy, drunken, wonderful make-out session to spiral into a one night stand. They would both wake full of regret, and Harry would have to find a new potions analyst for the department, a task he had not enjoyed the first time. Potions people, he had concluded, were all high-maintenance. Even this one.

He tried desperately to remember which rooms upstairs were actually furnished so that he didn't embarrass himself further. He finally settled on the purple room and prayed that the furniture had stayed semi-arranged in the order he had left it last. He sighed when the room appeared to be a perfectly normal bedroom, with a high, four-poster decked out all in purple hues.

Draco stepped in and looked around, before turning back.

"Thank you. Harry…"

Harry waited but clearly, Draco wasn't sure whether to continue. Or what he wanted to say. Harry was aware that he was swaying and felt slightly woozy. He decided to stop waiting.

"No worries, um...” Harry flustered. “Mate. Sleep tight."

Harry turned on his heel and walked down to his own room before he could regret leaving. He drifted off into confusing, drunken, and uncomfortable sleep shortly after falling into bed.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, that hazy, drunken feeling took over the house. The feeling of slight embarrassment, even if you were among friends and hadn't really made that big a cock of yourself. The feeling that everyone had, for just a moment, let loose and forgotten their inhibitions for five minutes. It was oddly reminiscent of another time, and Harry drank it in pleasantly as he settled into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Neville sheepishly appeared shortly after, stole a cup of tea and a piece of bacon, and then begged off, claiming pressing work. Harry suspected he just didn't want to deal with the wrath of Hermione about Gloria.

Wise, he thought.

Ron and Hermione appeared a short time later and apologised for not staying to eat before rushing off to collect an apparently hysterical Rose. She had become very wary of late, and an early morning owl seemed to suggest she was currently inconsolable at the Burrow.

Harry sat at the table with the papers (three; the Prophet, a national, and his local. He liked to stay on top of things, for the sake of the department). He was on his third cup of tea when a rumpled, silent, sheepish Malfoy padded noiselessly into the kitchen.

"Morning, Potter."

"Malfoy."

Harry breathed a sigh of silent relief that they had returned to surnames in an apparently seamless way. Malfoy had clearly decided that ignoring the previous night was the best strategy, and that was fine by him.

"Thanks for letting me stay,” he said, standing awkwardly at the kitchen door. “Made it much easier for me to…enjoy myself. I'm off."

"Righto,” he responded, cringing inwardly. Righto? Who the hell said _righto._ “Um, the others have already gone, actually, but there's breakfast…if you wanted."

Malfoy looked round at the countertop, where Harry had left pans under heating charms.

"You cook?" Malfoy questioned, looking incredulous.

"Well, I mean, it's only a fry up…bacon, eggs…” Harry trailed off. “But yeah, I suppose I cook. I like not starving. How do you…oh, wait, house elves."

Malfoy nodded shortly before taking a plate and filling it with food. Apparently, he wasn’t interested in turning down breakfast. He sat down as far away from Harry as he could manage, so Harry slid the teapot and newspapers he'd finished down the table into his reach. Malfoy glanced up, poured out a tea, and continued eating in small, dignified bites.

"Surprised you stay so up to date,” Malfoy muttered, glancing at the newspapers.

"Yeah, well. Part of the gig."

"Hm.”

Five minutes passed in silence, and surprisingly, they didn't feel that uncomfortable to Harry. He supposed that he was used to Malfoy's presence now, a year and a bit into his ministry contract, present at board meetings, and there for consultation in trials.

The same clearly could not be said for Malfoy, who suddenly cleared his throat and gently put down his cutlery.

"We are just going to ignore it then, are we?"

Harry startled but did not put down his paper, allowing the broadsheet to hide his expression of shock as he evened his tone enough to respond.

"Didn't think you wanted to, you know…talk about 'it',” he said, still hidden. “You called me Potter."

"Well, we were drunk-"

"Exactly, it's fine."

"I'm not really sure what came over me, actually. I've never really thought about-"

"Right? You never even…flirt with me, or anything."

"Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy sighed. “Does anyone ever get to complete a sentence around you, or is this merely reserved for me?"

Harry muttered an apology and then slowly lowered the newspaper, with much instantaneous regret. Malfoy was staring directly at his face, bold and full of intent.

"It is not strictly true that I have never 'flirted' with you,” he began again, hands clasped in front of his face. “It is true, I suppose that you never responded, so. Anyway. Not the point. I wanted to apologise. For my actions, last night. They were inappropriate. Especially when you and your friends were only being kind, not making me go to that stupid opening alone."

Harry sat a moment processing before he replied.

"Hang on,” he finally replied. “I have a few problems with that speech."

"Um...okay?"

"One. We were not 'being nice'. We are your colleagues. You and Hermione have been working on that hospital wing for months. It's going to be extremely beneficial, and I can't believe you had ever contemplated not going. She'd never have allowed it."

"Fine. You are right. You weren't just being nice, but you must admit-"

"Ah. Not done,” Harry insisted, holding up a finger. “Two; how is it that your actions were _inappropriate_? You are an adult. I am an adult. I am not your boss, nor am I your guardian, watch person, parole officer-"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Third; why, Draco Malfoy, should you get all the credit for being badly behaved in your actions. Granted, I was quite drunk. And giggling a lot,” Harry said as close to apologetically as he could muster. “Still, I believe that it was my admission that you looked quite wonderful in those purple dress robes which led to our escapade in the car. I want credit where credit is due. If you get to apologise, then so do I."

For a moment, Malfoy didn't answer. Then, he picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of bacon, and whispered, "Thanks for breakfast."

Harry went back to his paper.

Life continued to be strange.

When he looked up again, Malfoy was gone. Curiously, he hadn't heard him leave. Unusual, since he heard everything. Harry concluded that his house guest had used a _Muffilato_ , since the dishes he'd used also sat clean in the drying rack. Harry wandered into the corridor and smiled a small smile when he noted the black dress shoes, resting neatly together beside the potted plant. He picked one up, and only managed to notice that it was definitely expensive before he heard slight padding down the stairs. He picked up the other shoe and proffered them to the approaching Malfoy.

"You were just going to leave without saying goodbye,” Harry said, trying his best not to sound pathetic and suspecting he’d failed.

"I thanked you for breakfast,” Malfoy replied wryly.

"I suppose that's true,” Harry admitted.

Malfoy took his shoes and stared at Harry a moment before he bent to put them on, wincing as you always do when putting fancy shoes back on after a night of dancing; it is never what your feet need, to be shoved back into the places where your blisters sat.

Harry studied the top of the blond head in front of him, and for the first time that morning, he began to feel uneasy. This was still Draco Malfoy. Still the same git he had loathed in school, dealt with best in small doses at the office, not someone whose proximity and now familiar smell should be sending him just a bit off kilter. Yet, Harry couldn't stop himself staring as Malfoy straightened back up. He seemed a bit shocked at being watched, and let out a small sigh.

"Jesus, Potter,” Malfoy said, exhaling. “Stop. I thought we said it was fine. What do you want from me? I have already apologised. Are you worried I'll tell people? Sell it to the prophet? 'I kissed Golden Potter!' Look, I know you don't trust me, but it's really not something you have to worry about."

Harry was still standing there, frozen in place, a little bit closer than he would normally stand next to anyone. He didn't know what to say; it hurt, for whatever reason, to hear this speech from Malfoy. To realise that his own actions over the years had caused this much distrust, this much fear over one, innocent act. Sure, there had been missteps on both sides, perhaps too many to make friendship possible. But this wasn't better. Guilt wasn't better. He needed Malfoy to know what was really going on in his head, why he was really staring at him, but he couldn't find the words.

"So, yeah, that's it. I'll be off,” Malfoy said lamely after Harry hadn’t responded.

Malfoy ground his feet as though about to Apparate, and Harry panicked. He didn't know many things for certain, but he knew, right here in this moment, that if he didn't stop Malfoy, they'd never get another chance. They'd go back to the way they were, back to status quo, and something about that unsettled Harry to his core. So instead of letting it be, which was advisable, he reached out and held onto Malfoy's arm. When he didn't Disapparate, Harry stepped one step closer. And gently, slowly, as though approaching an easily startled animal, he pressed his lips to Malfoy's, softly asking a question. He only let it go for a moment, barely long enough for Draco to realise what was happening.

"I'm not worried. Just…stop apologising."

Draco took a step back and breathed in deeply for the first time in what felt like hours. His head hurt, and he supposed it wasn't actually from a hangover. He looked away from the face that was staring at him with such intense scrutiny so that he could find the words he needed to say.

"What…what do you want, though?" he whispered.

Harry shrugged, "Dunno, really. Does it matter?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, then shook his head. Harry turned and started down the corridor, saying as he left, "Right. See you, then."

Malfoy turned on the spot and Disapparated. Harry had no idea what to do next.

So he went back to bed.


	2. Then the Amazon Will Change You...or He Will

When Harry woke up again, feeling less hungover and a little clearer headed, he freaked out a little. 

Well. A lot. 

After pacing around for half an hour, he gave up and floo called Neville

"Nev?!" he shouted through the flames.

"Harry? Hiya,” came a disembodied reply. “Come through if you want, I'm in the kitchen."

Sure enough, Neville was in the kitchen, up to his elbows in flour.

"Neville, why on Earth do you insist on making bread in times of uncertainty?"

"Dunno, really,” Neville shrugged. “Just, had a rough night. Needed the…routine."

"Fair enough."

"You okay? You seem a bit, well, manic really."

"I needed to talk to someone before I burst,” Harry admitted. “But first, are you okay? Gloria, and everything?"

"Yes. I mean, no, not really. And my fire whiskey consumption last night would indicate that I wasn't quite ready to actually see my ex-fiancé with her new boyfriend, but I've been worse,” Neville grimaced. If anyone knew that, it was Harry. He’d been the only one who was single and without a five-month-old when Neville had broken up with Gloria. It felt like it had been no time at all, but it had been almost two years. Neville looked a bit sheepish as he kneaded the dough in front of him. 

“I don't know that I need to talk if that's okay?” he continued. “You talk instead. What brings you here, fit to burst, only two hours after I left your flat?"

"Okay,” Harry sighed, suddenly afraid of his friend’s reaction. “Just don't…freak out. I know how crazy this is going to sound, but just remember that I came to you, so-"

"Harry. Just tell me."

"Right. Here it goes,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “I kissed Draco last night. Well, and technically this morning. But it was more last night, more intense…so intense. Wonderful, in fact, before you came and got in the car, and-"

"Harry!” Neville interjected, now frozen in place. “Babbling! You are babbling. Did you just say you kissed Draco? As in Draco  _ Malfoy _ ?"

"Yes, Neville. Got it in one. Out of all our friends named  _ Draco _ , I kissed Malfoy. Lord help me."

"Wait, is that why he stayed over? HARRY DID YOU-"

"No. Merlin!” Harry shouted. “No, that's not…he was already staying. Hermione invited him. I just. Kissed him. Like, a lot. And the problem is-"

"You want to kiss him again."

Harry tapped the side of his nose.

"Yeah, well I figured. If it was as simple as having kissed someone, you wouldn't have come to me to me instead of Ron and Hermione."

"Neville,” Harry scoffed. “That's not why I am here. I am here because  _ you _ , of all people, can help me sort out my relationship shit. Ron and Hermione don't get it. They just sort of…happened into each other. You and I, we know real. And I am extremely fucking confused right now. I need real."

Neville nodded, but he didn’t really look convinced. He put down the ball of dough and went to wash his hands. When he came back, he looked more resolved and was holding a bottle of something green and bubbly. 

"Okay, step one,” he said. “Calm down. Merlin, so you kissed him. Relax. It's not as though you are betrothed or cursed and about to turn into a toad. Step two, sit down. Drink this."

"What is it?"

"Poison," Neville looked at him sharply, unimpressed.

"Ah. Obviously. Right, well, guess I deserve it. Slangevar?"

Harry drank the Pepper-up, and proceeded to explain the entire story to Neville. The glances all night. The drinks brought unbiddenly. The hand on his shoulder when he almost walked into a table. And finally, their mutual, though accidental, early arrival at the meeting spot near the car. Then, getting in because it was freezing and drizzling. Then, hushed darkness. Then, sudden irritation at Draco's fussiness, constantly fixing his tie. The muttered, ‘Oh, enough. You look perfect’.

The pounce. His lack of surprise, lack of hesitation, lack of inhibition.

So. 

Much.

Firewhiskey.

"Right. So you were drunk,” Neville concluded wryly. “But how did you end up kissing him again this morning?"

"He tried to leave without saying goodbye,” Harry said lamely. “And he kept apologising."

"Ah. Well, that makes perfect sense," Neville deadpanned with a look of irritation.

"I dunno, Nev. I honestly don't."

"Well, have we got a Bernard on our hands? Or is it more like an Edward? I need to prepare myself."

"Bernard was a mistake,” Harry angrily replied.

"A mistake I had to threaten with a fake police badge before he stopped following you."

"Yes, Neville. And you won't let me forget it,” Harry snapped. He felt bad instantly. “Look, I'm sorry. This is not a Bernard. Or an Edward. It's a  _ Malfoy _ . Same as it's always been; impossible, infuriating, and just the absolute worst…."

"And?"

"And utterly engaging, impossible to ignore, and always at the corner of my eye."

"Right. So a Malfoy. In other words, you're fucked."

"Pretty much completely snookered, ya."

* * *

 

When Draco woke up, it was the middle of a quickly darkening, winter afternoon, and his head was throbbing. He hated wasting entire days. Not to mention the fact that he was now not at all tired; he was fully alert and fully aware of his decisions from the night before. He tried to retrace his steps and figure out where he had slipped up. No matter how he spun it, this whole situation was  _ entirely  _ his fault. It had been ages since he had allowed it to happen. The only way he survived the way he did, without anyone finding out, was by not letting anyone care, not letting anyone in. He supposed that he could still do that now, ignore the kiss as one mistake, the way that most people handled inadvisable drunken decisions. He had a feeling, however, that he can't, because of the curl in the pit of his stomach. Because of the pain, he felt in his very core anytime he even considered never seeing Harry Potter again.

He walked out of the house, Apparated, and walked quickly down the whitewashed street, knocking on the familiar blue door before he could talk himself out of it.

"Hello, Draco,” smiled the older man who answered. “What a pleasant surprise."

"Walter. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday."

"No bother dear boy, come in, come in. Haven't seen you in a while. Tea? Something is troubling you, tell me as I putter 'bout the kitchen."

Draco followed the old man down the hall, already unable to stop himself babbling about the Ministry opening. He accepted banal praise over the achievement, eager not to dwell on that component of the conversation. The truth was that he still wasn't entirely comfortable having used a large portion of his inheritance on the Dark Arts Critical Care Ward, and he was quite tired of talking about it. He finished his story instead, sparing poor Walter the gritty details.

"Draco. My friend,” Walter said patiently, chuckling to himself lightly. “Have you considered the possibility that what you are experiencing are actually just  _ normal _ , human emotion? That you perhaps just like Potter?"

Draco sighed, "Walter. I wish it were that simple."

"Well, okay, describe it again for me?"

"It's like there is a creature, curled into the pit of my stomach. I can hear it's heartbeat in my throat like it is fucking whispering at me."

"I see. And?"

"And it only started this morning. Not last night. Was it because I was drunk?"

"No, probably not,” Walter pondered. “Don't think that would make a difference. What happened this morning?"

"Nothing. Well, okay, he made breakfast. But he made breakfast for everyone. And, well I guess he did kiss me again before I left. But it was barely a kiss. How could that be it? It doesn't make sense."

"That does explain it though; he initiated this kiss? And I assume the night before, he did not? It's the acceptance. His admission that he wanted it too. It would be all it took, I imagine."

"All it took for what?" Draco asked, already fearing he had an answer.

"To trigger the Curupira in your blood."

"Yeah. That's what I was worried about. Look, it's hard to explain how awful that would be, so let me just ask. What happens if I ignore it?"

"No idea, Draco,” Walter said, gripping his shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. “We don't exactly have a wealth of knowledge on attack survivors. We're all just guessing. Is it such a big deal? You are obviously attracted to him. You could certainly do worse than Harry Potter, head of the Auror department."

"Normally, I'd probably agree, but this is  _ Harry Potter _ ,” Draco said, dropping his head into his hands. “We have a very complicated history. Not to mention that I don't particularly  _ like  _ him. I never have. I'm not sure I want to, er, get to know him better. Now you are telling me I might not have a choice."

"Well, I'm not so sure that's what I'm saying,” Walter said, patting Draco again. “I have a feeling that if you ignored it, it would eventually go away. The physical symptoms, I mean."

Draco looked up into Walter’s comforting face and tried to let the hope burrow into him a tiny bit.

"Okay, interesting. Excellent,” Draco said, already plotting. “Walter, can I borrow your owl?"

"Of course. Why?"

"It seems about time that I follow Granger's 'take a leave from work whenever you need' advice."

* * *

 The first day that Malfoy didn't show up for work, Harry barely noticed. In fact, he'd been so busy dealing with the usual Monday morning backlog that he might not have noticed at all if he hadn't been bracing himself all day Sunday for running into the man at work. As it was, it just registered as slight relief in the back of his mind.

The second day, Harry needed a potions analysis done for a high profile kidnapping case, so he was angrier than was necessary when Malfoy was again not in his office, but he got a junior potions assistant to do the analysis as best as he could and resolved to make Malfoy check it when he returned. 

By the third day, Harry was furious, with a substantial thread of worry running through his anger, and making him even angrier. How dare Malfoy bunk off for three days, effectively avoiding the awkwardness, and as usual, not dealing with his problems?

When Hermione showed up at his door that afternoon, he had been pacing for almost half an hour, trying to dictate case notes to a  _ Quick Quil _ l, and getting so distracted wondering where Malfoy had gone that he'd had to restart at least three times.

"Hiya Hare,” Hermione said, shucking her heavy cloak and looking wary of Harry’s pacing.

"Hey 'Mione,” he replied, not actually pausing. “What's up? Hardly ever see you down here with us lowly peons."

"Neville sent me, actually,” she said, seeming surprised. “I don't have a lot of time, though, so I'm not going to beat around the bush. Can you please sit down? Your pacing always makes me feel like I'm going mad, but right now, it's making me feel a bit sick…"

"Right. Sorry. You okay? Everything…okay?" Harry asked, wincing as he asked. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Pregnant Hermione hated fuss even more than Normal Hermione, which was saying a great deal. 

" _ Yes _ , Harry,” she hissed predictably. “Let's not start this again, okay? It's been hard enough convincing Ron to not start treating me like spun sugar again, so don't you start too, or I will give you the 'I have already brought one perfectly healthy child into this world' speech."

"Okay, okay. I just…we find it hard, Ron and I, not worrying."

"I know,” she sighed, softening immediately. “It's why I love you. But I also have a long story that I apparently have to tell you; or, as Neville put it, a long story that I owe you. When I've finished, you can explain to me why, because I feel like there is definitely something I'm missing, only I can't figure out what it is and you know how that drives me mad."

Harry, intrigued enough to calm down, sat on the edge of his desk and waited. Hermione seemed satisfied and settled back into a chair.

"So, I know you and Ron don't remember much from your Auror training days. I'm still not convinced they don't modify your memories. I don't see how else you could forget the details of three months spent living in barracks, but that's beside the point,” Hermione said, shaking herself in reprimand. “What  _ is  _ the point is that I doubt very much if you remember that Malfoy was in the program with you, at the beginning?"

Harry stared at Hermione. He cast his mind back to his class at the academy. He was pretty sure he'd remember Malfoy being there or at least remember the deep seated suspicion he normally felt around him. Harry shook his head when he realised Hermione was waiting.

"Right. Neither does Ron,” Hermione continued, brow furrowed. “But he was there; by all accounts, he was actually very good. He accelerated himself through the program, was a natural leader. The report I read said 'promising'. Which is a deadly word, let me tell you. You'd never send a person labelled 'git' or 'passable' into the field before he was ready. So, here's Malfoy, top of the class-"

"How on earth do I not remember him being there if he was such a star child?" Harry interjected.

"Harry, don't interrupt,” Hermione chastised. “That will not be the most complicated part of this story."

"Sorry, shutting up."

"So, top of his class, sailing through the program, the higher ups decide to put Malfoy and another agent, Moran-"

"Irish bloke. I remember him."

Hermione just glared at him until he raised his hands in apology and she continued.

"They put Malfoy and Moran on a case, a fact-finding mission more than anything, in Brazil…well, in the Amazon really,” Hermione was making grand sweeping gestures, which had Harry concerned. She only did that when she was gearing up to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. 

“Things, according to Malfoy, were going fine, until the third day,” she continued. “He woke up and Moran was missing. They'd made camp the night before, but Moran was just gone in the morning. I guess Malfoy tried to look for him, set tracking spells, the whole nine yards-"

"He set spells,” Harry said, alarmed. “In the Brazilian Amazon.  _ Magic  _ spells."

"Yes. You see what I mean? Sent before he was ready,” Hermione sighed. “ It was a few hours later, as he chopped down a tree to make a smoke signal, that he was attacked. The Curupira had probably already killed Moran. Draco didn't see its footprints, and it must have gotten bored waiting for him to follow the trail.”   
  
Harry’s face even felt ashen. He tried to imagine dealing with that sort of incident while in charge. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been told of the accident. 

“Harry, he almost died,” Hermione continued, staring at him hard. “He was bitten 16 times, three broken limbs, a couple blows to the head. He only survived because the supervisor on the case checked in and felt the tracking spells. When he arrived, Malfoy was unconscious. They are pretty sure that only reason he's alive is that he managed to drink some sort of healing draught before he passed out from blood loss. The phial was beside him; it was his own potion."

"How do I not know this?” Harry replied after a beat, his brain not quite caught up. “I hired him. Someone should be…studying him, or something. Has anyone else ever survived a Curupira attack? I've never heard of that. We are all trained not to use magic in the Amazon unless necessary, to tread lightly in the forest so they don't think you are there to cause harm. The stories of attacks are always about fatalities. How is it that something so major could happen and no one-"

"Harry,” Hermione said significantly. “Someone  _ is  _ studying it. And keeping an eye on him." 

Hermione waited for him to get there, that look of significance that he knew so well pasted on her face.

"You. The hospital wing,” Harry finally said, head falling down. “It's about this."

"Not this specifically, no, but it is the reason for Malfoy's involvement. When he recovered, he was…different. More sensitive, more attuned to sounds and feelings, but that's his part to tell. He couldn't handle the field anymore, so they re-trained him, put him here. The Ministry is eager to keep this quiet. They don't like when Magical creatures act unpredictably when they don't understand what has happened."

"Wait, are you telling me that Malfoy was…infected?” Harry asked carefully. “By a Curupira? Is that, you know, possible?"

"We don't know. We just now that he was attacked, he was bitten, and he took on traits that were not his own. Walter Thomas is helping me, gathering information. Sounds a lot like a vampire attack, or a were-creature. We're working with no information, so yes, we are treating it like an infection.”    


Harry nodded. It did at that. 

Hermione sighed again, “It's impossible though, trying to learn more. No one has ever even talked to a Curupira. All the information we have about them, even from the Magic population in Brazil, is folklore. Everyone is too superstitious to try and find out what is true. And through it all, Draco has a right to keep what he wants to himself. It's been a ridiculously crappy time for him. Here is he, believing he has overcome prejudice to find his purpose in life, and this happens. It's supremely shitty, so I forbid you to use it against him."

"Well, Hermione, why are you telling me then? Now?"

"Yes, exactly,” she shrilled at him, a little out of the blue. It made him wince. “Why is it that Neville appeared at my door this morning, saying he couldn't focus on his projects, because you kept appearing downstairs at the labs, brooding? Why would he further insist that I had to come and tell you about Draco Malfoy, immediately, upon pain of death? Do you even remember what Neville is like when he decides to take a stand? I couldn't exactly  _ Petrificus Totalus  _ him in my corridor this time, could I?"

"Hermione-"

"No, you know what Harry,” she said, standing up and starting to leave. “ Not this time. You and Nev have had your secret little club for the past two years, and I am done. You promised that Ron and I having Rose wouldn't change anything, and I knew it wasn't possible, not really, but I was hoping you'd at least try."

"Hermione. That's not what it's like. It's just, Neville gets the struggle. You and Ron- you are happy. I know you want to understand, but that isn't the same as understanding."

"Fine," Hermione sniffed, still deliberately avoiding his eyes. "Well, you can tell him I told you. My job here is-"

"I kissed him."

Hermione froze, her head quirked at a confused angle even if she wasn’t looking at Harry still. 

" _ Neville _ ? Harry, you know Neville doesn't fancy you, why would you-"

"Hermione. Not. Neville."

"If not Nev…oh, oh I see….at the opening?" Hermione said, finally turning just her head back to face him.

Harry simply nodded, studying the floor, his turn to not look at her.

"Did you...are you okay? Did he return the...erm, favour?"

"Yes. God, Hermione,” he said, head snapping back up. “Why do you automatically assume that I just randomly assault people? There are easier, less-likely-to- have-me-punched-in-the-face ways to determine if someone is gay. He initiated, thank you very much."

"What, seriously? When?!"

"In the car."

"Hm. I kind of knew something was up,” Hermione said, smirking annoyingly. “The giggling."

"Yes, well, we were both drunk. Which means I could have just left it alone, but I didn't."

"OF course you didn't. You're Harry Freaking Potter. Leaving well enough alone isn't in your vocabulary. Do did you sleep with him, then?"

"NO, Merlin, you and Neville have very dirty minds. Quick to jump to conclusions.”

"Well, I mean, there is a precedent.”

“Well, I didn’t. I just, sort of…held him from leaving in the morning- after he slept in the _guest room_ since I apparently need to clarify that."

“You put him in the purple room?” Hermione said, sounding amused. “Cruel. So why did you stop him from leaving?"

"So I could kiss him again. Sober. And tell him I didn't know what I wanted from him."

"Well, do you?"

"Nope. But, he just kept apologising, and it was annoying me. And since then, I haven't been able to figure anything out, because he hasn't been at work."

"There we are then. That must be why Neville forced me down here to talk to you about him,” Hermione said, sounding relieved at having an answer. “Remaining question is, what are you going to do now?”

“Dunno,” Harry said a bit miserably. 

Hermione smiled sympathetically and took his arms, “Harry, just promise me you will actually think about this before running off like a knight at arms? I realise he is gorgeous, and he's softened up a lot since school, but I am working with him regularly, so I feel like I can tell you; he's still Malfoy. He says stupid things, he gets carried away, and he's still a snob…. So just, be careful."

"What, you aren't forbidding me from talking to him?"

Hermione smiled, "No, actually, I sort of feel like I should encourage it. You'd be…good for each other, I think."

"Don't tell Ron."

"Well, obviously."

"Thanks, Mione."

"Just don't do anything rash and stupid."

"No promises."

"There couldn't be. You are Harry Freaking Potter."

"You mentioned,” Harry laughed. “I'm starting to get a complex."

* * *

Draco curled back into a ball on the floor. He had forced himself to sit up long enough to drink the water Nimby had placed there sometime in the last few hours. He didn't touch the sandwich next to it; his stomach had turned at the very thought. He felt best when he lay here, like he was a dying animal, though that didn't help stop the shivering. His teeth chattered so loudly that they distracted him from his thoughts, which was good considering the direction those thoughts kept turning. He kept imagining Potter's death, in more and more vivid and dangerous scenarios. And in all of them, the common thread of the Curupira’s fears was the image of Draco, unable to get to Harry in time.

Draco shook his head. He was not going to give up. Walter might be right yet. Never mind that he hadn't been able to sleep, or keep down solid food, for three days. Or that he was afraid. And alone. And he hated it.

Still, he was not giving up on forgetting this ridiculous thing. From his position on the floor, he managed to calm his stomach long enough to doze, plagued by nightmares.

When his eyes flew open an indeterminate amount of time later, he didn't need the sound of the doorbell to tell him that there was someone at the door.

Or that it was Potter.

He didn't move at first. He figured that if he ignored Potter long enough, he'd go away. He was likely just here checking that Draco wasn't lying to the ministry or the department. But Potter kept ringing the frigging doorbell. After five minutes, and seven rings, Draco dragged his head off the carpet and pulled himself to his feet. 

 

He stood on the other side of the door and yelled, "Potter, just leave. Please."

"Malfoy, I just want to talk."

"Leave!” he screamed again, louder than he’d meant to. “I don't want to talk about anything. We had one stupid night of poor decision making! Am I to pay for it constantly. Bloody Gryffindors.”

There was silence for a moment, and Draco turned to go lie down again. But then, there was a thump again on the door.

"Malfoy,” Potter said more softly. “I know about Brazil."

Draco sighed through his whole body, feeling like there was too much weight on his shoulders for him to possibly continue to stand upright. Still, he opened the door. If for no other reason than to find out who he had to kill for breaking their vow of secrecy. Only four people knew about Brazil.

"Was it Granger?" he said without hesitation. 

"Yes,” Potter said instantly, no reserve in his own voice.

Potter looked tired, though Draco was pretty sure he had him beat on that front. He was also a lot taller than Draco had originally thought, which was a little weird and also strange to notice. His glasses were reflecting sunlight, and it annoyed Draco. The man could afford whatever he wanted, and he was still wearing these dorky round wire frames? It was utterly ridiculous. Draco leant imperceptibly closer, trying to smell the smell he knew was buried in Potter’s skin. He made his conscious brain step back and screamed internally.

"You have to go,” he said placidly. “There's no reason for you to be here. You just have to go. I'm dealing with it."

"You look like shit,” Potter said tactlessly. 

"Yes thank you,” he drawled back. “I didn't say I was dealing with it  _ well _ ."

Harry ignored Draco's words and pushed past him into a large, foreboding entryway. The house he stood in bore no resemblance to the Manor. It was open and airy, and the light cascaded all the way into the open living room from the doorway. Still, the fact that his eyes wandered drew his attention to the empty glass and untouched sandwich that rested in the middle of the living room floor.

"When was the last time you ate?" Potter said, eyeing the food.

"I haven't been feeling like eating,” Draco said, looking at Potter strangely. He was  _ so  _ weird. His mother hen tone was not welcome.

They stood in uneasy silence for a moment longer, before Potter huffed and picked up the plate and glass, placing them on the table.

"Malfoy, what are you dealing with?” he said, whirling back around. You said you were 'dealing', but what with? Are you ill?"

Draco looked at him in confusion, "You said Granger told you about Brazil…"

"I thought so?” Potter said, seeming genuinely concerned. “She told me about the attack. The Curupira thing. Are you sick? She seemed to think I needed to know for some reason."

Malfoy snorted, "Huh. Yea, the Curupira 'thing'. Something like that. Look, Mr Potter, if this is about work, you don't need to worry. I'll come in next week, get things in order. I won't let myself get too far behind while I move the lab to the hospital."

"What?  _ Mister  _ Malfoy, you don't need to…I'm not worried about your work, okay,” Potter snapped. “I am aware of how seriously you take it. I hired you, remember? If I didn't think you could handle it, I would have hired someone else. I took a lot of crap for hiring you, you know. Brought in five different potion masters before-"

Only he didn’t actually finish his sentence. Draco had held back for as long as possible. Hearing Potter defend him, his reputation, and defend his work, which mattered to him more than most things, it cracked the veneer. The simple truth was that he was barely in control, and proximity, kind words, they mattered more than the veneer. When he moved, when he pinned Potter against his own body, it was without thinking at all.

Potter made a small noise in his throat, which could have been surprise, but felt more like satisfaction and need. This felt as right as it had when he was drunk; his hands in his hair, and Potter’s arms circled around Draco's hips, it all felt natural and perfect. When Draco pulled back, however, he was furious. He didn't let go, but he felt like hitting something, or screaming, or throwing up.

"You know, I'm fine with this if this is what you want,” Potter declared unhelpfully. “The random snogging? It can be all it is. We can snog, fight, then you can kick me out and everything. The ignoring it as soon as it happens can be a thing. I have to admit, I'd rather it be more-"

"Potter, stop-"

" _ Harry _ . My name is Harry,” Potter growled. “It's short, pretty easy to remember. As I was saying, I'd rather it be more, but if it isn't, I can handle it. It can be just this. I can keep, you know, doing the random club thing too, I suppose. It isn't really that bad. Well, except for the morning after crap, but-"

_ NO. _

_ No one else. _

_ MINE. _

_ …Mine… _

The words sounded to Draco like they were in his head, said in his usual internal monologue voice. He assumed that, as a result, no one else could hear them. Figured they would be secret and harmless.

But they were not.

When Harry heard these words, they were feral, terrifying, and otherworldly. They were accompanied by an animalistic snarl that transformed Draco's face and made him look less human, made his features darken and twist into someone Harry didn't know. The words were barely audible, and yet felt like they had come from the centre of the Earth. They rumbled like thunder through the walls and hit Harry squarely in the chest. They resonated there for a second. Just enough time to notice, before Draco wobbled, paled significantly, and passed out.

* * *

 

When Draco woke up, he was prone on the couch, alone. His body was draped with the thin throw he hated. His mother had bought it, but it was itchy and he never used it; he had kept it only because it matched the couch. He threw it off hastily and sat up too fast, immediately regretting the decision as his vision faded and the dizziness returned.

"Ah," Potter said, sauntering back into the room from the kitchen door, a tea towel over his shoulder and a large mug in his hands. He looked very odd; at ease, at home, yet uncomfortable and obviously on guard. "You're alive. I wasn't convinced. Here, eat."

"You cooked?" Draco frowned at the sound of his voice. It was scratchy, almost non-existent; completely unrecognisable.

"I heated up a tin of soup that was already in your cupboard. Well, and added chicken. Still, that is not cooking."

"But-"

"Draco, eat,” Potter gently chided. “You passed out. We can talk once you've eaten."

Oddly, Draco was hungry, for the first time in days. An almost painful surreal feeling hit him. He took the soup and drank it slowly, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye as the man settled into an armchair, folding his legs up beneath him. It felt strange, to see someone appear at ease in his home. It was an oddity. He very rarely had anyone else here. He didn't say anything, just ate the soup quietly for a few minutes, as Harry stared off into middle distance somewhere to his left. Finally, the silence began to bother him.

"Did you put me on the couch?" he rasped.

"Hm?” he mumbled. “Oh, yeah."

"How?"

Harry shrugged without looking at Draco, then muttered, "Auror…I'm strong."

"No kidding."

Draco kept eating, shivered, and curled himself further into the couch. Both of them were mirroring each other, distant and yet the same, curled into defensive balls on separate chairs, avoiding eye contact, lost in thought.

"So, um, listen. That was…dramatic," Potter ventured finally. 

"What? The fainting? Sorry. I must be…ill."

"No, uh, people faint all the time, in my line of work,” he said, shaking his head. “I was talking about the, you know,  _ word thing _ ?"

Draco felt his face go white and his eyes grow wide. 

"You heard that?” he whispered.  “I said that _ out loud _ ?"

"I...well, yes, but I'm not sure that it was you at all. Didn't really…seem intentional."

Draco didn't respond at first, and when he did, it was to say, "I'm sorry. You can go."

Harry laughed, shortly and without humour, "Ha. Right. Not a chance. Not until you tell me what that was."

"Other than terrifying, creepy, and without a doubt, the most disturbed you have ever been?"

"Voldemort, Draco,” he said wryly. “You're going to have to try harder if that's the goal."

"Just, go  _ Harry,”  _ Draco begged. “It's easier."

"It's easier?” Potter said, gritting his teeth. “How? How is  _ this  _ easier? For you to lie curled in a ball on the floor, unable to eat or drink, missing work and hiding away? That's easier than just telling me what’s wrong so that I can help?"

Draco ground his teeth too. 

"You. Cannot. Help,” he grimaced. “You make it all worse. Besides, it's impossible to explain."

"Well, I'm not leaving until you try,” Harry said, crossing his arms.”

Draco dropped his head to his knees and said nothing.

"Draco, it can't possibly be that big a deal."

"Oh, but it is,” he tried. Finally, he sighed, “Fine. How much did Hermione tell you about Brazil?"

"The attack...your partner…the, er, changes in you since."

"That is simplifying it a great deal,” Draco corrected. “There is more we have learned, through the myths, the stories of Curupira in the forest. The long and the short of it is that I may not be human, not fully. There is evidence that I am now a…host, of sorts. Sometimes, I am not in control."

"The voice,” Harry pointed out.

"Yes, the voice. And the past couple of days, the sickness. That's the  _ thing _ , it's not me."

Harry looked up sharply at Draco.

"You've been unwell since…"

"Yes. I have been unwell since the opening,” Draco said dryly, now that Harry seemed to have started to catch up. “Since I kissed you. What do you know of the Curupira story, Harry?"

Harry startled at the use of his real name, but he’d been right before. Draco needed to stop being such a child about this. If this wasn’t the right time, he didn’t know what would be. Potter, after all, had done nothing wrong. He deserved common courtesy, at the very least. Draco could at least offer him that. 

"They are spirits that guard the forests around Brazil,” Harry finally answered. “They protect it from harm, from overuse, from magic. They protect the people in the villages should they be threatened, but they will turn on them if hunters take too much from the jungle. They are guardians, but not to us. They are fast, and cruel, and drawn to magic, but they always perceive it as harmful."

"So, you know ten times more about it than I did before that trip."

"That is standard Auror magical being knowledge,” Harry explained. 

"Maybe it is now, but it wasn't before,” Draco said. “Curupira are… more complicated than we thought. Much more complex than anyone knew, as it turns out. We've only really accepted that they are real in the past decade or so. Based on the story alone, you could say they are 'protective', yes, but it's more than that.”

He took a deep breath. He hated talking about these things; the backwards feet, the red hair, the humanoid form. It all made him grimace, even thinking about it. Talking about them made his hair stand on edge in anger.

"They have black and white justice,” he continued. “The reason the one that attacked me attacked was that my partner set out too early in the morning to track a pack of wild boar. The Curupira decided he was hunting, trying to kill the young. So it killed him, found me through the magic, and set a trap. The problem is that then it got bored waiting.”    
  
“I didn't know what I was looking for,” he started again. “I was young, an idiot. I didn't even look for any tracks, I just fell back on magic, as usual. So it came and found me by my spells instead, and attacked. It told me that I wasn't worthy to stay in the forest any longer. It didn't kill me though, not outright. It should have, but it didn't. I don't know why. It's not in character. They protect what they decide to protect."

Harry nodded, giving Draco the permission he needed to carry on.

"What's worse is that I think I've sorted out why it left me alive,” he said, shuddering. “There is a lesser story about the Curupira, one I only heard from the old women in a tiny village; there is an origin story about how the spirits of the forest formed, using humans to pass on their traits. In this story, they are very different, not so evil. When they find a potential mate, they lose their self-control, become all consumed. Their protective traits all shift to focus on the mate, and they become possessive. And…once accepted, they mate for life."

"What if they aren't accepted by the mate?” Harry muttered.

"They die,” Draco shrugged. 

Harry didn't have words in this moment. He had no way of being supportive, or understanding, or inquisitive. Instead, he was just in complete, confused, shock. He felt the pounding of his heart in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his head. He said nothing. He refused to look back at Draco. He could barely hear him as he finished speaking.

"So, you see, you cannot make it better, Potter.” 

Potter gulped but still said nothing. 

“I have a theory,” Draco said, looking down at his hands. “That when that fucking thing attacked me, I should have died. It should have been the end of me, and when it wasn't, it left enough of its fricking blood in my veins to partly turn me into something not entirely human. And now, Potter, the Curupira in my veins has chosen a mate."

For a moment, Harry continued not to move. He thought about his emotions over the last three days. He thought about the fear and the pain, the worry, all over someone he barely knew. And that made him realise the truth. He wanted to. He wanted to know Draco Malfoy. He had, over the past three years, entered into a series of very poorly planned relationships. There was Bernard, the eventual stalker. Edward, the man who had planned marriage and babies after the second date. The Steve, the Tim, the Dave who liked football (really, really liked football). He was sort of infamous with his friends for jumping in feet first, for making it too messy, too soon. For believing, every time, that he was with THE ONE.

And that was just the thing. When he scanned his current thoughts, that wasn't how he felt right now. He was actually pretty sure that pursuing anything further than random, semi-violent and ill-advised snogging with Draco Malfoy would lead to his eventual misery. Somehow, though, when he stopped thinking, he looked down to find himself straddling that very mistake, hands running through soft, if slightly dirty, hair, unaware of when he had moved.

"Harry…" Draco whispered, unable to make his voice louder, as he involuntarily leant into the sudden contact, feeling as though he would be purring if he had the mechanism.

"Yes, I know. It's a terrible idea,” Harry heard himself chuckle. “Yet somehow, I ended up being here beside you, against my better judgement. Picking you up off the floor. I don't know why, I don't know where it's going to go, but fuck, Draco Malfoy, don't you think we owe it to ourselves to figure it out?"

"Did you not hear me?” Draco said, still quiet. “I don't know what happens if you become my-"

"I heard you tell me that you are working off hypotheticals, off of myths and legends,” Harry dismissed, hands still in Draco’s hair. “For all we know, nothing happens at all. For all we know, nothing besides your own emotions is guiding you. Hermione assures me you are still human. Humans choose. I choose to keep snogging you….and more."

As if to prove his point, Harry once again captured Draco's mouth in his own, but softly, as though he was kissing someone for the first time. Maybe, he thought, he was kissing Draco for the first time.

"I'm going to go like you asked,” he muttered when he pulled back. “But I am not going to stay away. Be prepared. Just…think about it, will you?"

Harry got up, and moved toward the door, grabbing his jacket and not looking back. Draco curled back into a ball and dropped his head to his knees, sighing. He was angry, and confused, and very afraid. But more importantly, he felt like himself again. He felt hungry. One hour of Potter proximity and he was back to normal.

Except that his brain kept chanting the same refrain, over and over; all it said was mine.  _ Mineminemineminemine. _

Well, so not back to normal. Back to new normal. New reality.

Fucked as it was.


	3. But Once Everything is Known

The next day, Harry wandered into his office relatively late. It was already half nine, and his anxious looking assistant, Maurice, was none too pleased.

"Mr Potter, I'm sorry to be rude, but what hour do you call this?” the older man said primly. “There are already seven messages, and you have three meetings this morning."

"Oh, Mo. Relax. Have a cuppa. Grab a biscuit. They will wait for me, I am their boss. Which, I know, is a crap excuse,” he whined, rubbing his eyes. “I'm sorry. I just didn't sleep."

Which was an understatement if he had ever heard one. He had tossed and turned all night, feeling like he had dug himself a hole from which he would never escape.

He scrambled through his day, as usual, trying his damnedest to play catch up for the twenty minutes he lost. At two that afternoon, he was so engrossed in a pile of interdepartmental memos that he only just heard his door open.

"You know, I really hate my job," he muttered, without looking up.

Had he looked up, he would have had time to register Draco slinking into the office well before he was standing right beside his desk, which would have meant less surprise. Less shock, causing Harry to leap up in and back away in well-practiced caution.

"Oh, Draco-"

"I'm sorry for this, Potter,” Draco apologised.

"What-"

But Harry didn't finish his sentence, because, at that moment, Draco stepped forward and hugged him tight around the waist, running his arms up Harry's back, placing his chin on his shoulder, inhaling deeply, and relaxing completely.

He stayed there for almost a minute, and Harry didn't move a single muscle for the first ten seconds. When he did move, it was only for long enough to return the embrace gently. Finally, Draco stepped back, looking more ashamed than Harry had ever seen him; eyes downcast, posture apologetic, running his hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry,” Draco grimaced.”I've just felt…off all day, I came in to get some files and decided to stay, but by lunch, I felt like I was going to explode."

"Draco, look at me. Seriously. Look at me….There,” Harry grinned as Irritated eyes met his own. “That's better. Now listen. I have very little issue with a gorgeous man hugging me. Did it…well, did it help?"

Draco just nodded.

"Can you explain? What it feels like?" Harry prodded.

"Hermione asked you to ask me, didn't she? Always researching,” Draco aid, sounding bemused.

"No, seriously, I haven't seen her all day. I'm just wondering if there is any truth to your hypothesis. So, what does it feel like? How did that help?"

Draco contemplated, then sighed, "It feels like someone is sitting on my chest and I can't breathe, and then it feels like the weight is gone and there is oxygen in the room again. When I'm near you. Sorry, but that's what it's like."

"Look, just stop. You're doing it again. Stop apologising. Did it feel like that the first time?"

"No, the first time all I could think was 'his lips are pretty. I should touch them. His hair is a mess. I should fix it.' Drunk, remember?"

"Righ,” Harry smiled. “Well, okay, does it feel like that every time you kiss someone?"

"Well, maybe. I don't really have that much to compare it to. Since the accident. I would hesitantly say no."

Harry felt his heart thump a little at the admission, and smirked.

"You know,” he said. “The solution I feel like I should suggest is that you are going to need to kiss someone else, but I don't particularly want you to do that, at this point."

"I think we can go with the non-scientific method on this one, yes,” Draco said wryly. “Potter, I just don't know. I don't know what I want. I don't know if doing anything about this is a good idea. I don't know how to handle this, or how it impacts you and your life. What if I leave for a week and I stop feeling this way? What if I leave for a week, and I go back to normal? What if this is a terrible mistake? I should never have kissed you in the first place; I've dragged you into this mess and I don't even know how it is going to impact you. I just…can't."

"You know there are other what-if's, right?” Harry sighed, getting irritated with Draco's insistence that things were going to crash and burn. “Like, what if we find common ground and end up happy? What if we take a chance, and it works out fine?"

Draco didn't respond right away, and he looked away from Harry once more, resuming the worrying of a strand of hair by his ear before stilling his hands and taking a deep breath. "Do you remember Pansy? Parkinson?”

Harry nodded.

“She always used to tease me and say we'd be good together…fire and ice or some stupid cliché like that,” Draco smiled.

"Ha. Imagine the look on her face. You'll have to call her."

"I would, but she died."

"Oh. I'm sorry. In the battle?"

"No, after. Didn't recover from the…loss. It's fine. Well, no, but it is the past. Lots of people died."

"Yes. They did. It feels like we've all spent years going to funerals. So, why would we waste being alive?"

"Ew, Merlin,” Draco’s nose crinkled comically. “Don't say things like that. I hate clichés. You seem very willing to jump into this adventure. It seems ridiculous. Your life could be simpler."

"Not likely. Never has been, he laughed.

"You could be happy with a muggle even."

"Could be. HAVE been. Not the point,” Harry said, stepping a little closer to the blonde. “Draco—and you don't know me well enough yet to understand how radical it is for me to say this—but, why don't we take it one step at a time here? Right now, you need what? Contact? I can handle contact. I may lose against the urge to kiss you once in awhile, especially when you keep throwing your hair all of kilter like that, but, if you can deal, slow is fine. For the record, I'm still not sure I buy this whole 'mate for life' business, but we can start from here, can't we?"

Draco's hand went self-consciously to his hair and Harry laughed as he reached over, took his hand away, and kissed him deeply. It was starting to get easier, less shocking, this intentionally kissing Draco Malfoy thing. When his tongue ventured out of his mouth, and ran softly against Draco's lips until it was granted entrance, it felt out of his control. When he laced his fingers behind sturdy hips, grabbing belt loops for stability, using thumbs to find small patches of skin, his head began to spin. When Draco's breath hitched, or when a small sigh escaped his own mouth, he felt himself agree with his own idea. Take it slow. He never did that. This time though? For once, he actually meant it. If it took a glacial pace to keep this sexy blond half-beast in his grasp, keep that tongue in his mouth, and those hands in his hair, then he would become ancient, icy, and painfully slow.

Draco continued to show up at his office each afternoon, near the end of the day, when everyone was starting to leave and no one would bother them. He never wanted much, would just wander in, step into Harry's embrace, and sigh as though the entire world had been removed from the space between his shoulders at the simple contact.

Against his better judgement, Harry started to feel better when Draco was there, too. It was new to him, to be the one who was needed, to feel like he was the support. It was…sort of nice. He felt like the fact that nothing was actually happening might be okay. He felt the slow burn of a relationship that wasn't a real thing yet, and it was new and bizarre. Plus, they were talking, more than he normally talked to anyone. He realised that what he had always been missing was that he tried to shape and sculpt a person into who he was expecting; he never just met someone where they were, and let them be, finding a way to fit himself into the space available instead of the other way around.

The only problem now was that he was continually turned on, and it was starting to impact his work; he'd get distracted mid-meeting by thinking about how Draco smelled, and once, had even let out an embarrassing whimper he'd covered with a cough. He'd end up hard sitting at his desk waiting for Draco to show up. He'd delay lunch with his friends in case he missed a midday pick me up from Malfoy. It was getting harder and harder to cover up, and since he had no timeline for what the next stage was, he was getting frustrated.

Finally, he decided he would take charge.

One idle Wednesday, they sat in Harry's chair, looking out the bay window that had been enchanted into his office wall. It had never really appealed to Harry since he was aware that he was underground, but Draco had been fascinated by it the second he saw it. He sat now, watching the street above them, curled into Harry's lap, his head pressed into the side of his neck, not saying anything or moving an inch. It was so quiet that all Harry could focus on was Draco's slow, gentle breathing. Had he not known better, he would have thought the blond was asleep.

"Draco," Harry whispered, terrified that speaking was going to ruin this moment. "I need more than this."

When he answered, the voice Draco used barely existed, and he didn't move at all when he said, "I figured you would. Eventually. But I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"That once I actually let you in, you won't like what you see."

"Yes, well, ditto."

"Please, Golden Child,” Draco said, his voice a sneer even if Harry couldn’t see his face. “You do not get to steal my broken spotlight."

"I'll make you a deal,” Harry said patiently. “You let me in, I'll let you in, and we will figure it out."

"Stop saying 'we'll figure it out'. It's infuriating,” Draco insisted. “There are too many variables. You don't know me at all. You are basing all of this bravado off of, what, six kisses? And this…cuddling, or whatever it is. Which is super weird and uncomfortable if I stop to think about it for any time at all. What if it's not even real attraction? This fact that I feel better when I am just touching you. I don't even know if that's me."

"Malfoy. Draco,” Harry said gently, holding Draco a little tighter, “If it is the last thing I do, I am going to convince you to let me like you."

Draco moved his head away in order to look at Harry. He studied his face for a moment, so full of scrutiny that it made Harry squirm.

"You're on, Potter,” he finally muttered, blushing softly and making Harry grin.

Finally, he dropped his head back and wrapped his arm around Harry's torso tightly, settling back in. He took a deep breath and Harry just waited.

"So what do you need? A date? Sex?" Draco asked.

"You are so fucking blunt." Harry laughed.

"Yes, if I recall correctly, that was always your issue with me in school."

"Not exactly,” Harry said, amused despite the uncomfortable topic of their past. “If I recall correctly, my issue with you in school was that you constantly insulted the people I loved to their faces. Oh, and that you were inexplicably aligned with people who I believed were my enemies."

"And now?"

"We all have more information now that we are not 17."

"We do indeed. Like for example that you are okay with being, you know, out."

"Ugh. I hate that word, Harry whined, crinkling his nose.”

"Fine,” Draco shrugged. “How about Bent. Twisty. Bumder. A Peter Puffer. Wand pointed-"

"STOP. Fine! Fine, I am out,” Harry half-shouted. “Please just stop using…extremely offensive words."

Quite unexpectedly, Draco burst into laughter. It was a shocking sound, one that didn't belong to the normally sullen and silent man, the one who normally sat in Harry's lap without speaking for an hour at a time. It wasn't a bad laugh, but it did seem a bit unnatural. Like it was out of practice.

Which made Harry sad.

He knew from Hermione's adventures of trying to work with him that Malfoy was nothing if not a bit broken and unhinged. She said he was always alone when she saw him, that there was little time that he wasn't in the office, even when she tried to owl him late into the evening.

By all accounts, he was a loner and a bit of a miserable sod who know one knew very well. When Hermione had started inviting him out to random work events, he'd only come a few times, and stayed only briefly. When Harry had suggested she invite him to stay after the opening, it had been out of pity. He imagined that Malfoy would show up for twenty minutes of the event honouring his hard work, and then leave. It was getting hard to defend him to the people who had opposed the hiring in the first place, and he had been happy that Malfoy had seen sense.

This laugh startled Harry, but before long, he was laughing too. He looked down at blond head, and shoulders that gently shook with a now hearty chuckle, and found himself at a loss. He stopped short.

He needed Malfoy to understand that he knew what was at stake here. That he was willing to take the risk. He gently detached Draco from his body and slid as gracefully as was possible out from under Draco, still ending up half dumping the other man into the chair behind him. He silenced the confused frustration with an intense kiss, and more importantly, by kneeling in front of Draco's now semi-prone form.

"I don't need anything from you that you don't want to give,” Harry said, massaging the back of Draco’s neck gently. “But, what I give, you need."

With ever loaded words, Harry reached down and unbuckled the stylish, yet somehow regulation, trousers. Draco reached over and stilled Harry's hand with his own.

"You don't have to,” Draco said, eyes wide at realising Harry's intention. “You shouldn't."

"Oh, but I do have to,” Harry smiled warmly. “And I definitely should."

As he continued to undo the very complicated trousers, the hand that had been in on his in protest moved to his arm, the other reaching into his hair.

Finally freeing a belt from a buckle, Harry wasted no time in pushing down trousers and pants at once, assisted by a shimmying Malfoy who somehow managed to make even that ridiculous action look dignified.

Beneath all those layers, Draco's skin wasn't as pale as Harry had imagined it. It was, however, smooth and soft, if dimpled with sudden gooseflesh at the cool air of his ever-freezing office. Draco's cock was similarly smooth, soft blond hair kept clean, but still present.

It was also unprepared for this sudden change in activity, taken upon so quickly and without preamble. It made Harry smile that he had managed to surprise himself; he certainly hadn't been anticipating going from people watching to cock sucking. Yet, this would never do.

Harry licked his lips, which elicited a small hitched breath from above him. Harry decided hands were a necessary first step. When he simply lifted Draco's cock, stroking lightly, really just feeling what was available to him, there was a short gasp and, with satisfaction, Harry noted that the length he rolled between his fingers was already becoming full and attentive. He continued to run his hands up and down the vein, noting each ridge, using the pre-cum that suddenly appeared to slicken his movement. When he felt he knew what he was doing, knew what he was handling, he moved his mouth to Draco's head, sending his tongue out in front to circle around the very tip and dragging a gasp from the mouth above him.

"Relax Draco,” he said, backing up and smoothing his hands down Draco's thighs. “ I'm not going to hurt you. Probably."

Harry returned his mouth to the attentions he'd paused, moving his hands to cup rough, slightly fuzzy balls. Draco squirmed in what seemed like an unhappy way. Harry stopped, returning one hand to the base of his cock, the other to scrape nails down the side of a quaking thigh.

As he flattened his tongue on the underside of Draco, he sucked as much into mouth as he could, puffing out his cheeks and increasing pressure, using the scrape of his tongue over foreskin, meeting his mouth with his hand, causing so much friction in so many places at once that Draco's hips began to buck. Draco's breath quickly lost all rhythm, and Harry felt smug, knowing that he had brought him from zero to coming in under five minutes.

Soon, even sitting, he was shamelessly fucking Harry's mouth, his hands twisted in Harry's hair painfully as he rocked back and forth. Every once in awhile, Harry discovered that Draco liked it when he lightly rasped his teeth against soft skin as he made his way back to the tip. Every time he came close to withdrawing completely, Harry swirled his tongue around the pushed back foreskin at the head of Draco's prick before diving with hands and mouth back down to the hilt. Draco seemed so close to the edge each time that it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, there was soon a stifled cry above him.

"Harry…I'm going to…ngh"

And Draco came, hard, into Harry's still sucking mouth. As he came down, his hips slowed, but his hands gripped Harry's hair tighter, to the point where it almost hurt. Harry removed his mouth as much as he could to mutter, "Draco-", but Draco didn't let go. He held impossibly tighter. And Harry shuddered as the voice returned.

_Mine, yes?_

_Mine._

* * *

 

When Draco's eyes opened again, his pants were still missing, but his robes were back around his knees. He was grateful as he shivered in the freezing cold of Harry's office. If he was going to keep spending time in here, he was going to have to look into that. He really hated being cold.

At his feet, stretched out with his head leaning against the seat cushion, Harry rested, eyes closed but quite clearly awake. He uncrossed his ankles and stretched his hands up overhead, fully extending and yawning. He let his arms rest on Draco's lap on the way back down and batted his eyelashes open.

"You know,” Harry said, voice hoarse and rich. “If this is going to keep happening, we need…like, a code word or something. Like 'pickles' or 'hinkypink'.”

Draco looked down at Harry, confused.

“You know,” Harry continued. “For every time you are going to _claim_ me in a creepy ethereal voice and then pass out. Because don't get me wrong. It is seriously sexy, but I just can't help envisioning it happening at the wrong moment and someone getting hurt.”

“What?” Draco said, eyes narrowing. “What are you on about? Getting hurt.”

“Oh, well...I like to be a bit inventive. You know, in the sack. Can’t have you passing out just because I-"

"Merlin, Harry, shut up,” Draco said, not heat to his tone. “Are you saying I fainted again?"

"You did."

Draco closed his eyes and scrubbed at his hair, embarrassed.

"Did I at least…you know, um, finish?"

"You don't remember?” Harry said, turning to look at him for a moment. “Well, that's a bit annoying. I hate wasting a swallow. I don't particularly enjoy it."

"Sorry,” Draco quipped, hardly apologetic.

Harry twisted around and dropped his mocking tone as he studied Draco's face, "Are you okay?"

Draco looked down into those concerned eyes and sighed before looking away. He didn't answer. For a long minute, he went back to sullenly staring out the window, and Harry assumed he wasn't going to get an answer.

"So, you're very good at that, you know,” Draco said suddenly. “I feel as though I might be a little bit…jealous. About how you got so good."

Harry laughed, surprised that Draco was almost cracking a joke.

"Well, I don't know how many guys I've made faint, but yes. Natural talent."

Draco chortled slightly. Then went serious again.

"I used to faint a lot before, too,” he said, one hand venturing into the tangle of Harry’s hair. “I don't know if you remember. It's always been a bit embarrassing, frankly. Apparently, it's low blood pressure or some nonsense like that. But the attack, it's made it worse. Anytime I feel too much, I seem to pass out. I think you're right, as it happens; we need a safe word.”

“You think it's going to happen every time?”

“As long as you keep…doing things like that, I'm going to keep passing out,” Draco nodded, pulling his hands back. “Wait. Do you actually find the possessive thing attractive?"

Harry paused mid-stretch, considering. Then he stood up and towered over Draco as he said, "No."

Draco felt his face become slightly crestfallen, which was not helped when Harry laughed.

"It's not attractive,” Harry said gently, cupping Draco’s face with an irritating amount of affection. “The curves of buildings, or the way an advert is designed, or the rewards program at my coffee shop…those things are _attractive_. I believe the word I used for the whole 'Mine' thing was sexy.”

He turned and walked to his desk, pulling out water.

“Trust me,” he continued. “I'm as surprised as you are. I don't have the greatest track record with being told what to do or who I belong to; it's come as a bit of a shock that I rather enjoy the idea of being owned."

Harry shook his head, smiling, then settled down on top of Draco, throwing his legs haphazardly over the arm of the chair, and not really sitting on Draco so much as over him. It felt possessive its own way, but also quite carefree. Nothing like the needy contact of earlier. Draco smiled to himself and said nothing as he drank most of the water he had been given in one long pull. Harry tisked.

"You really need to start taking better care of yourself."

"Yes, I know,” he said, throwing his arms across Harry’s lap. “But I've been saying that for years."

"That's fine. That's what I'm here for now."

Draco looked at Harry askance, "You are extremely confusing, you know. No one outside of your friends would guess you were like this."

"Like what?"

"A home-body, sentimentalist, sap…the cook, the comforter. It's just…surprising."

"You'd be less surprised if you talked to any of my last four boyfriends."

"I'm going to suggest that we not delve into the topic of past relationships so soon after an, er, episode."

"Huh. Yes, likely fair. Tell me about you instead."

"Nothing worth mentioning,” Draco said, feeling his face heat again. “Three relationships that deserve the definition; two serious. Only one of them male. Does that bother you?"

"Not even slightly."

"Again. Surprising."

"I'm not the jealous type," Harry rolled his eyes.

"I didn't use to be, either,” Draco said sharply.

"I was kidding,” he apologised, adding a kiss for good measure.

"I know. I have an idea. Let's leave your office," Draco said, standing quickly.

 

"Now? Together? As in, at the same time?"

 

"Yes. You up for it?"

 

"Depends. Do you plan on putting your pants back on?"

"Hadn't thought about it."

“We can go,” Harry grinned mischievously before leaping out of the chair and whispering, "But no pants."

Draco blushed fiercely but immediately decided he liked this side of Potter; the side completely comfortable taking the lead. Romantically, sexually, conversationally even. He could handle the directions and the power switch. It made him feel calmer, less like he had to everything sorted out. It was very unlike him, and very, very exciting.

As they left the office, Draco wondered why exactly he had never left the house wearing only robes before today.

It was very liberating.

* * *

Harry sent Draco home after dinner. Even though he was convinced that he had done the right thing, that he had dared Draco into being a full person, one with desire and character and needs; even though he was confident that they could find even more ways to get to know each other, he also knew that he would scare him away quite easily.  
  
So he sent Draco home.   
  
It had been a bit of a shock for him to realise that he needed sex as much as he did. He was a bit crazy about it, actually. The first time he had slept with a man, it had been because Neville had talked him into going out for Gloria's birthday, a random and awful night in Clapham that he had instantly regretted. Until he had inadvertently picked up Hans, who had fucked him against a wall with urgency and no care.

It should have been embarrassing, but instead, Harry had found it exciting and awakening, and no more than six months later he had become Hanz, randomly pulling anytime he wasn't in a relationship, finding exciting ways to have sex, desperately trying to hold onto that feeling of the first time. Excitement and possibility, newness, thrill, and the feeling that he could have complete control over his life if that was what he wanted.  
  
His friends had been tolerant, understanding even. At first. Eventually, though, they stopped supporting him. They attempted to stop him, dissuade him, set him up with people so he would stop going out. He had calmed down when he had realised that they were right. He didn't sleep with strangers anymore. He didn't miss it most days, and that was how he had met all the people he had thought were right. They weren't, but that wasn't the point. The point was they could have been, and he had never lost sight of that.  
  
Still. He could sense that he could very easily scare Draco away with sex. Scare him away with questions and intimacy and the things that made a relationship rich. He wasn't sure where they would go from here, but sending him home after dinner seemed like a good place to start.

 


	4. You Will Save Each Other

Several weeks and a handful of very odd, almost-but-not-quite-dates later, Harry got up the nerve to drag Draco to a party with his friends. The event would be perfect; there was nothing special going on. Neville had thrown it for no reason other than getting rid of the excess whisky he had accumulated. It was the sort of party they had always had when they were younger, just out of school. He had missed them, and at first, he’d been excited.

But he stood at the door very nervous about his decision, with Draco standing impatiently at his side, looking as immaculate as ever and seeming relatively amused at his hesitation. This decision to open up what was still weird and raw and confusing, even to them, suddenly felt very dramatic. He had to, of course, but if had the choice, it would not be to open it up to the ridicule of his very open, honest friends.   
  
"Hmm. This is a nice change. You are nervous, and I feel fine,” Draco mocked, tweaking Harry on the elbow. “What are they going to do? Neville and Hermione already know. There are only, what, three other people in that room that knew me then?"   
  
"Well, yes, but…” Harry hesitated, taking a breath. “One of them is Ron. You might remember him? Ronald Weasley? A person who hated you far more than I ever did because you happened to spend a lot of time torturing his now-wife and being a general git?”    
  
“Well, yes, but he got over me  _ working  _ with her, so,” Draco huffed, not even really convincing himself. 

“Long distance between ‘working with his wife occasionally’ to ‘sleeping with his best friend’.” 

“Whatever. I’ll handle it,” Draco asserted, squaring his chin. “Who else is here?”

“Erm, well...Colin."   
  
"Ahaha. Yes,” Draco laughed. “You owe me the story of how you stayed friends with that little twerp."   
  
"He stopped being a twerp. Sort of. He's Luna's friend,” Harry amended.   
  
"Right. And that's what I was going to say,” Draco said, facing the door again and seeming calm once more. “Luna is the last person. She and I…sort of get on. Besides, at some point you are going to have to tell people."   
  
"Tell people, what, Draco? Say it,” Harry grinned, even though his stomach still felt like an entire circus of elephants. He was making Draco squirm, which was now his favourite pastime.   
  
"Tell people that we are…together. That I am your…" Draco said, flushing prettily and seeming irritated at the same time.   
  
Harry arched an eyebrow.   
  
"Boyfriend," Draco finished quietly.   
  
Harry reached out and poked Draco in the ribs, "Well done, you. I'm sure that was hard. Oh, alright. Let's go."

He reached out and rang the doorbell and was immediately swept into the tide of people inside, a very random bunch; friends from school, Ministry employees, various partners and spouses, random people he didn’t even recognise that had likely been dragged with friends of friends.   
  
And everything was fine. Well, it sort of went fine. Okay. So the first twenty minutes were a disaster, Harry had to admit, even to himself. Draco—the person he had been getting to know and understand, the one who he recognised in the fuzzy closeness of cars and offices— seemed to immediately disappear upon entering the house. This Draco became silent and aloof, cold and slightly distant. In other words, he acted like the person Harry had always thought he was when they were young. Apparently, Draco had only ever been his public self around Harry, sneering and jeering at everything. Which made sense, since they hadn't exactly been friends.   
  
Harry ignored the behaviour, and stayed in contact with Draco subtly as they moved through the small crowd of people he knew. Since Ron was hovering nervously around Hermione trying to get her to sit down, it took him a while to see them. When he did, he opened his mouth, and Harry waited. Until Hermione subtly jabbed him with her elbow and he closed his mouth. He was clearly reprimanded and looked at the floor. When he wandered closer, he looked Harry in the eye, but held out his hand.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy. Welcome,” Ron said, his voice far from welcoming as he tightly continued. “Sorry you got dragged into the middle of this sorry lot. I'm sure you're used to more esteemed company, like that froufe ministry thing where I saw you last."   
  
"I assure you, Mr. Weasley,” Draco said with equal acid in his voice. “I am far more comfortable today than I was then. And please, call me Draco."   
  


The two former rivals stared at each other until Draco took an instinctive step back.

  
"Harry, really?" Ron hissed a moment later, civility apparently abandoned. 

  
"Ron, can we do this later,” Harry muttered.

Ron took a visible breath, looked at Hermione, and dropped his shoulders, "Fine. But don't think this is over."   
  
"Wouldn't dream of it,” Harry acrimoniously. 

  
"Go get yourselves some drinks,” Ron dismissed, turning back to his wife. 

  
Draco looked at him slide long before slinking off towards the makeshift bar table in the corner. When he came back, his face had slid calmly back to its normal self. The mask was mostly gone, and he was grinning calmly.   
  
"Here, beautiful one,” he whispered, touching Harry’s arm with his as he handed Harry a cup. “Drink up. I seem to recall that good things happen for me when you drink firewhisky."   
  
Harry laughed in spite of himself, "Interesting. You're back. I'd missed you."   
  
Draco grinned. 

After that first drink, things got much easier. Draco was back; quiet and not overly extroverted, but acerbic and funny. And, apparently, a huge hit with most of his friends. Draco had been right. So few people here had known him in school that he had nothing to make up for. If anyone was questioning his name, or wondering about the mark, they kept it to themselves. 

It was a sign of the times, Harry supposed. Discussing past lives with the people who currently worked in the society the war had left behind wasn’t necessary. They were not their parents. At a certain point, it had been silently agreed upon that the new generation-- now largely in charge at the Ministry, and in possession of the new world-- would atone allowing for peace. Draco was a prime example; he was old blood, and most people knew. He made little attempt to hide his Mark, but most just chose to ignore it. When there were people who had an issue, Draco politely apologised, and left them alone. It wasn’t perfect; the month before, an older witch had spit at his feet, and he’d been beaten up the year before by a group of masked wizards outside a pub. But, he felt like he deserved those little things, so it was fine by him. 

Now, he could just be who he’d been raised to be; the centre of a party, polite and not grating. He wandered freely, occasionally taking along a bottle, filling people's glasses as he joined their conversations. Harry ended up sitting on a chair arm near Luna just watching him.   
  
"You're quite taken with him, aren't you?” Luna said in her typical, honest way. “It hasn’t been long, but...it’s quite lovely. It doesn't seem like the others."   
  
"Lu, I don't think it is anything like the others,” Harry smiled at her. 

Luna grinned for a moment before growing serious.  
  
"Are you worried? About the thing?” Luna asked gently, causing Harry to start. She frowned, “Hermione told me."   
  
"Not really. I maybe should be, but...the thing is,” Harry considered. “If I didn't know, I think I'd just assume he was super clingy. It's not affecting me as much as Hermione thinks."   
  
"Well, just so you know,” Luna said, settling back on the chair. “I've decided not to care."   
  
"Thanks, Luna. I'm grateful. Not at all surprised, since you are a better human than any of us, but I am grateful."   
  
She didn't respond, instead resting her head against his knee as she sleepily nodded her head.   
  
It happened so fast that Harry didn't have time to react or process what was happening. Later, he would be convinced that Draco had moved unnaturally fast. His wrist was wrenched hard enough that it would hurt for days, and he was suddenly standing, drawn behind Draco's back.   
  
_ Mine _ .   
  
Luna was suddenly standing too, hands raised in a universal sign of innocent surrender. The room was loud and when he looked around, no one was really looking at this little sofa in the corner. There had been a few glances at the movement, but they had all turned back to their conversations.   
  
"Draco, calm,” he said, touching Draco gently on the face. “It's fine. Nothing happened. She isn't…I don't want her. I'm yours."   
  
Draco looked ashen and terrified, "I'm so…so-sorry. Harry, did I…?"   
  
"Yes,” Harry winced. “But I don't think anyone heard you."   
  
"Luna clearly did,” Draco gestured at the witch, who was standing with her arms up still. “I'm sorry Luna. I didn't hurt you, did I?"   
  
"No, Draco, no. It's fine,” she said, relaxing. “I'm sorry. I didn't need to lean on Harry like that. I won't do it again. He's yours, Draco. Just yours."   
  
Draco nodded curtly, and Harry took a deep breath.   
  
"Think I'm going to have to go, Harry,” Draco said shortly.   
  
"Okay. Let's go."   
  
"No…no, you stay. I'll just Apparate home."   
  
"Right. Stay and worry about you all night? Not on your life."   
  
"Harry, I really am sorry," Luna looked dreadfully apologetic, and Harry went to comfort her, but Draco took a step toward her first.  
  
"Luna, don't you apologise,” he said, taking her hand gently. “You are not to blame. I am so sorry if this ridiculous thing upset you at all. Especially since I get the feeling that you have always defended me. Try not to judge Harry too harshly here. He got caught up with this quite by accident."   
  
"Draco Malfoy," Luna whispered, just loud enough for Draco to hear, stepping closer. "You watch how that man when he watches you sometime. Just for a minute. I think it will help you realise…there is no accident here.”

Harry watched from a step back as Luna responded in a typically Luna way, full of grace and calm. She leant in and hugged Draco. Which caused a curious twinge in Harry's own stomach.   
  
They Apparated from the street, leaving Luna (at her insistence) to explain their absence. When they landed on the street of his flat, Harry immediately began talking again, trying to fill what he thought was an awkward silence.   
  
"Draco, I'm very sorry,” he rushed, aware that he was speaking way too quickly and possibly very loudly. He couldn't stop himself doing either. He walked quickly up the steps.

“I didn't know that was going to be so hard,” he continued, still half-shouting. “We haven't been around other people very much, and I just didn't realise the extent to which it would impact you. I seriously will just tell people and it will be fine. I mean really, people don't actually-"   
  
"Harry?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Shut up."   
  
Harry barely had time to protest before he was crushed against the front door of his house. He reached behind him and managed to drop the wards so he could get it open, and just barely kept his balance as Draco walked them both backwards, his mouth roaming away from lips and finding purchase on sensitive jawline and neck. He was surprised, but Draco clearly was not. He had a plan. So Harry decided he would just go with it. As soon as they were inside, Harry managed to put his hands to better use, and had both their jumpers off in record time.   


Naked from the waist up, Harry was able to better explore Draco's torso, an experience he had been waiting for since that first kiss. As Draco attempted to lower his kisses, Harry's hands roamed the new expanse of smooth, silken skin before him. An intriguing line of hair, barely visible, softly floated from his navel to beneath that stupid, complicated belt. Harry looked away and felt the hair again, running his thumb from top to bottom of the downy line. Not willing to waste time again, he wordlessly removed the belt with a satisfying pop of magic.   
  
"Hey, that was my favourite b-"   
  
Harry silenced words again by unbuttoning Draco's trousers and getting both hands in under pants, massaging both delectably dimpled arse cheeks.   
  
"Bedroom," Draco rasped against Harry's chest.   
  
"Not necessary," Harry responded, dragging his teeth across Draco's jaw line.   
  
"Necessary this time,” Draco insisted.  
  
With no room left for conversation, Harry paused his attentions, and dragged Draco by the hand up the short flight of stairs to his room. His room, which was impossibly messy, and too warm.    
  
Draco smiled, "Finally, a room in your life that is warm enough."   
  
"It's like a rain forest, all the time."   
  
Harry realised his words immediately, regret flooding his senses.   
  
Draco's tone was dark, but he pulled Harry back against him and backed into the bed until he was lying down, pulling Harry on top of him.   
  
"Harry, I can promise you, this is nothing like a rain forest."   
  
Harry was at a loss. He had been imagining this moment for the better part of two months, the moment where he would break past Draco's inhibitions, get him into a place where he was vulnerable and ready and perfect. 

And he was perfect; breath ragged, hands roaming, hair already hopelessly dishevelled. The problem was that all the things Harry had been envisioning, all the things he wanted to do to Draco, they had suddenly fled his brain. He was paralysed. He just stared down at that beautiful face, pulling a strand of white blond hair out of his eyes, mouth agape, breathing hard, unable to figure out what to do next.   
  
"Huh, if this is the great Potter Prowess, I'm not surprised you're still single,” Draco joked. 

Harry sighed, nuzzling down into Draco's neck, and not apologising as he said, "You've got me all frazzled."   
  
"Well," Draco breathed into Harry's hair. "You are lucky, then, that I have some very clear ideas on how to make sure you remember that you are  _ mine _ ."   
  
With that very promising statement, Draco's inaction disappeared. He flipped them over on the bed in one swift motion, dragging Harry's trousers down in his very next movement. He lingered momentarily at Harry's nipple, licking, and swirling, dragging breath away before continuing to kiss and lick a path down to his navel. 

When he reached the band of Harry's pants, Draco didn't pause as he took his tongue below the elastic, joining it with his hands to pull them down. Harry's back arched involuntarily when the licking didn't stop; down his hip, down the side of his leg, the inside of his thigh, a kneecap, the top of his groin. Everywhere except where he needed Draco's tongue the most. Which he was sure was entirely intentional. Largely because Draco kept chuckling at Harry's squirming. His cock twitched and throbbed until he couldn't stand it.   
  
"Draco, please."   
  
"Well,” Draco said, tone lost in the groaning raspy voice he used, “Aren't you a needy fuck?"   
  
Even though he was full of mocking bravado, Draco squared his head, grabbed a hearty handful of arse, and finally, gently, took Harry's cock into his mouth. Harry gasped in relief, grabbing Draco's hair and throwing his own head back at the final, enveloping heat. But it didn't last nearly long enough. Suddenly, Draco's face was back in front of his, and he was kissing Harry. He could taste himself on Draco's tongue, and he almost forgot how much he needed Draco's mouth back on his cock. 

Almost.   
  
Hands in Harry's hair, Draco whispered, "Need lube."   
  
"Top drawer," he whispered back. 

He felt momentarily bereft at the loss of contact, and only had a second to wonder at the feeling before Draco pulled open the drawer, triggering the charm he had set ages ago. All around them, half hidden candles lit, lights dimmed, and soft music played. Draco burst into uncontrollable laughter.   
  
"Merlin, you really are a regular Casanova, aren't you?” He said, laughing at Harry. “Does that ever work? And what about Muggles?"   
  
Despite himself, Harry was laughing too, even though he knew he was being mocked.   
  
"It's usually more subtle than that. I'm usually in control…my timing is better."   
  
"Yes, well, not this time, Potter,” Draco grunted.    
  
Suddenly, Draco was back on top of him, crushing his hand onto Harry's chest and pushing him back to the bed. The last of his laugh caught in his throat as he dragged in another ragged breath. His poor lungs were going to give up entirely soon. He lost all coherent thought as Draco reached down, applied lube to his own hard, heavy cock before inserting two slick fingers to Harry's entrance. Although it was hardly necessary, he spent a few moments reaching further, massaging Harry's prostate, and making him lose the rhythm of the kiss that was happening at the same time. His face felt numb.   
  
When Draco finally entered him, bending Harry's knees up to rest on his arse, Draco caught his hand and interlaced fingers above their heads. Harry hadn't been in missionary in a long, long time, and he was suddenly very glad that it had been Draco's choice of position. He had forgotten how intimate it was; how breathing the same air as the person above you felt like the best thing in the world, how feeling the motions of their body against your entire torso made him feel like he was feeling everything twice, how every change in sensitivity was echoed on your partner's face. 

He reached his free hand back to grasp the back of Draco's neck, bringing his face down to his own as they rocked into each other shamelessly, following sensation, and quickly losing any coherent rhythm all over again. Harry had never felt so filled, so in sync with another person's desires. Truthfully, he hadn't cared what anyone else desired in a good long time. But now, here, with Draco, he felt like he did.   
  
When Draco came, Harry didn't think he was anywhere near ready. He felt his own cock throbbing, and didn't want the feeling of fullness, the aching of cock against prostate, to end. But Draco reached down, gripped the base of his cock hard, using cum and lube to create delicious slickness, and against his own desire, the sight alone had him coming long and hard, all over their chests, his hand. 

He felt immediately elated and exhausted all at once, and was grateful when Draco sank down onto his forearms and simply breathed against his chest for a moment, clearly trying to regain some control. When he withdrew, Harry gripped his hand more tightly, the one he had not let go of the entire time, and wrapped his other arm around Draco's back as he began to drift in ecstasy and sleep.   
  
As he faded fast, he heard himself nearly incoherently declare, "Draco? Mine."   
  
He didn't hear a response; he just barely realised Draco had wandlessly cast a cleansing spell and pulled a blanket up over them before he was gone. Warm, satiated, and comfortably underneath the perfect amount of weight, soft blond hair resting on his neck, he slept.   
  


* * *

When he woke up at 2:45, as he always did, Harry noted with some discomfort that Draco had moved off to the top most corner of the bed, curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around himself and as far away from Harry as was humanly possible. It looked uncomfortable to him, and Harry missed the warmth and feel of having Draco at his side. He moved his body toward the fetal ball, and wrapped himself around solid ropes of back muscle, which were so tense even in sleep that Harry cringed at how much Draco must hurt in the course of a day. At the contact of skin to skin, Harry held his breath. There seemed to be a happy sigh from Draco, who released his arms slightly and snuggled back into the embrace.   
  
Harry nestled into blond hair for a moment and breathed in the scent of Draco. This feeling still felt raw. He has never been needed, necessary. He was needy, he was extra. He was fun, sure, but that was all. Now, here he was, taking care of someone else for the first time since the war.   
  
He frighteningly felt he liked it.   
  
Which was part of the reason his dismay quickly turned to anger when he awoke the next morning to find Draco gone. He would have been regular frustrated and angry had Draco just left. Leaving he had experience with. Leaving, he could understand. 

This though. This wasn't leaving.   
  
Instead, Harry awoke to find Draco snuggled beneath a throw on the useless settee that was shoved in the corner where it had been since Hermione had insisted he buy the entire bedroom set. The settee that wasn't nearly long enough for a full grown man to sleep on. And had no pillow. For whatever reason, the sight destroyed Harry's last patient instinct, and he was fuming.   
  
He stormed outside and started walking so angrily and quickly through the park that he quickly lost any direction or aim to his path.    


When he had finally calmed down enough, he slowly trolled his way back home, muttering the whole time 'I just need to calmly ask him to leave.'   
  
But when he walked in the front door, it was to the sounds of blaring alarms and the distinct smell of smoke.   
  
"Morning," said a disgruntled voice that streaked past him brandishing a tea towel through the air trying to dispel the smoke alarm. The action was very surprising. It was so pedestrian, so familiar. So... Muggle.

"I made breakfast,” Draco growled. “Or I tried to."   
  
Harry entered the kitchen behind the blond, and burst into laughter. The cooker door stood open, and the remnants of what may have once been eggs sat in a pan on the stove top.   
  
Harry pulled out his wand, turning off the alarm, banishing the mess of a pan that wouldn't be saved anyway, and sat down at the table to pour out tea. He opened his newspaper, and tried to act like nothing was wrong. Mysteriously, the last of his anger was gone, and all he wanted to do was pretend that nothing had happened at all. He said nothing as Draco took the same seat he always did in Harry's kitchen.   
  
Quietly, for a few minutes, Harry could feel Draco just watching him.   
  
"You were angry. I felt you, out there."   
  
"Hm,” Harry said calmly, considering the implication. “Connection is stronger, then, huh? Interesting.”  
  
"Never mind that,” Draco responded, frustrated. “Why were you angry?"   
  
"It's not important,” Harry replied, refusing to rise to the challenge. “I was being silly."   
  
Draco was quiet as he said, "It isn't silly if it's how you felt. My mum always used to say."   
  
"Just leave it. It's... Over now."   
  
"Was it the settee?" Draco asked pleadingly.  
  
Harry sighed and turned his page.   
  
"It was the settee,” Draco nodded. “I'm sorry. I'm just... Not sure I want to..."   


Harry put down the paper, suddenly frustrated again, and glared.  
  
"Want to what, Draco? Be cared for?”  
  
Draco paused, as though he shouldn't say what he was about to. Harry just kept staring at him.  
  
"What? Go on, what is making this so difficult?” he said, crossing his arms. “This hesitation about letting me in is getting old. I wouldn't be lying if I said I was running out of patience."   
  
Looking him straight in the eye, Draco said, "You've slept with a lot of men."   
  
Harry sputtered, then stopped. It wasn't exactly a false statement, but still.   
  
"I don't see how that-"   
  
"You are only my third...lover,” Draco said, still blunt even while uncomfortable. “I'm in uncharted territory here. But you aren't. And I..."   
  
"You don't trust me,” Harry supplied, suddenly understanding. He felt the hurt and confusion flicker across his face. 

  
Draco looked away for a moment, pausing before he shook his head.   
  
"I have more invested in this than you do,” he said. “It's only a matter of time before you grow bored with me. And then where does that leave me?”

“Draco--” 

“It's been a long time since I felt relaxed, safe. When you’re gone, I have to deal with the fact that I’m used to you. Used to being comfortable in bed, unable to survive a day without physical contact, having to process all of my emotions again,” Draco shuddered visibly. “I don't know if I'd survive. I'm just... It's self-preservation, Harry. It's not personal. I'm having...fun. I'm just preparing for the next phase. I can't stay over with you cuddling me and making me feel safe. Relaxed...human."   
  
"Yes, God forbid you actually enjoy something in your life,” Harry said sarcastically.  
  
"Don't. Don't mock me,” Draco begged without any bite. “Anything else. Anger, frustration, whatever. But don't mock me."   


Harry felt his body deflate. 

"Look. Just tell me,” he said delicately. “What about my actions over the past couple of weeks have led you to believe I don't have as much invested in this? Was it the waiting for you to catch up at every turn? Was it the telling you exactly how I feel so that you don't feel like I am being difficult or playing hard to get?”

Draco was looking at him full of suspicious hope. He was clearly unconvinced.

“Draco,” Harry tried again. “I am not uninvested. I know that you have this extra weirdness about you right now, but I wish you would stop blaming your insecurities on it. Yes, I've slept with a few people, but I have only had a few actual relationships, which, I might add, have all failed miserably. I'm in 'uncharted territory' too. I find sex...easy. I don't feel like I need to apologise to you for that, because that's not what I want from you. Well. Not all I want from you.”

Something suddenly occurred to him. 

“Wait,” he said, eying Draco with his own suspicion. “Where did you hear that anyway? Are people, like, talking about me?"   
  
"Neville, last night," Draco muttered. Harry barely heard him, and he was suddenly very annoyed about that.  
  
"Draco, please stop whispering everything,” he snapped. “I'm not all that scary. I don't feel like you need to treat me like I shall explode. We both know that isn't your normal tone."   
  
"Neville said I should be cautious," Draco's old sneer and pretentiousness had returned in his affect, though it was clearly a lot of effort for him to use this much volume.   
  
"Fucking Longbottom,” Harry said, not really meaning it. “Poor bloke meant well.”  


He stood up and walked over to the other side of the table, leaning very close to Draco, “You see, he’s always has to deal with the fall out of me throwing myself into new people. I...tend to be a bit much. Prepare yourself. But why don't we make a deal? Why don't we let only two people end up in this relationship from now on?"   
  
"Relationship?” Draco said, leaning unconsciously closer to Harry. “Is that still what we are doing?"   
  
"Yes,” Harry said, touching Draco on the sleeve. “God. What, did you think I was just going to hang around long enough to shag the man who claims to own me? Just to see what it was like? You must have a pretty low opinion of me, Draco Malfoy."   
  
Draco smirked with what looked almost like mirth, before replying, "I'm working on that."   
  
"Good,” Harry said, pulling Draco up and moving him to stand against him. “Now, no more sleeping on the settee? I won't cuddle you. I will stay firmly on my side. We can set up some sort of charm if you'd like."   
  
"Don't you dare…haven't slept that well in months."   
  
"See? I knew it,” Harry said, nuzzling close. “Now who's the needy fuck."   
  
"Yes, well, it's just because that settee is terribly uncomfortable."   
  
Harry laughed and kissed Draco, who chuckled himself and returned the favour. 

"Hey!” Harry said suddenly, brow furrowed. “You didn't pass out, last night. Is that…well, is that a bad sign?"   
  
"After that sex? Not a chance,” Draco assured, laughing at the affronted look on Harry’s face. “I think that we can call that a…successful endeavour. I think it may have been because, well, because I took over."   
  
"Yes, sorry about that. I just sort of froze. Never happened like that before."   
  
Draco laughed, and Harry coloured.   
  
"I'm pretty sure that the drawer proved your proficiency, Harry, don't worry. You can pay me back."   
  
"Why Draco Malfoy, was that a mischievous come on, just there?"   
  
"Good lord, you're rubbing off on me."   
  
"Not yet, but I promise I will soon."   
  
"Ack. Stop."   
  
"I just don't think I can. You make me want to be mushy and gross all at the same time."   


Draco made a face and stepped out of Harry’s arm to pick up the tea mugs.  
  
"Sorry about breakfast."   
  
"Doesn't matter."   
  
Draco nodded, before saying, "Would you teach me? To cook?"   
  
Harry looked up and grinned. Draco was wearing Harry’s track pants, and a horrible Gryffindor t-shirt that he had likely had since school. 

The image was disarming.   
  
"Course,” he replied, pushing himself off the table. “Not now. Right now, we have got to get you out of that t-shirt. It's just…unnatural."   
  


* * *

Despite all the promised misfortunes ahead, Draco and Harry managed to progress with a relationship that was as close to normal as they were ever going to be capable. Ron didn't really come around, and for a while, refused to see them when they were together. As Hermione became more and more pregnant, however, and he became increasingly paranoid about what could happen, he seemed to forget his fears of Malfoy and started coming back to Harry's dinners and pub nights. Harry suspected that an increasingly hormonal wife had at least something to do with it, but he held his tongue. The last thing he needed was Hermione mad at him too.   
  
Together, Harry and Draco dealt with the random Curupira episodes. After a few months, Harry barely noticed them anymore. Except for the one that had happened in the restaurant because a waitress had been flirting a bit too heavily. That one had been hard to ignore. 

Still, the 'symptoms' (as Draco insisted on calling them) barely impacted his life. It was true that there were moments where he would get frustrated with the need for contact, moments when it was difficult to do his job for fear of leaving Draco alone too long. Once, he had had to reassign a case so he didn't have to leave for the weekend. He complained sometimes, but if he was honest with himself, it didn't bother him as much as he pretended it did. He felt needed and secure, and was surprised at how little alone time he actually wanted.   
  
Draco, on the other hand, was often very resentful of not getting to choose when they were close to each other. There were times where he would show up at Harry's office half way through the day practically fuming. He would sit angrily in Harry's chair, stick his arm out, and wait for Harry to put his arm next to his. On these days, he would stare off into space, chewing the inside of his lip, not speaking. After half an hour or so, with the contact fix filled and the physical discomfort alleviated, he would storm out of the office and Harry wouldn't see him until the next day.   
  
He implicitly understood that he needed to leave Draco around in these moments, knew that he would come back sheepishly when he was ready, apologetic. Harry didn't need the apology. He understood. Pre-Harry Draco had been quiet, introverted. He had assumed loneliness, but what he was learning was that Draco liked solitude, needed quiet to recover from the world. He felt awful for him, having to be near another human just to feel comfortable. It was so against his natural personality that Harry began to understand the treatment of the Curupira traits as other, as alien. As creature.   
  
Hermione and Walter had no answers for them, either. Which was extremely frustrating. All they kept saying was that they would know what was going to happen next when they saw it. They couldn't prepare other than to have a plan in place in case things got dangerous, for either of them. It was possible that nothing else would happen, and living in the limbo in between was complicated.   
  
So they did their best. They lived as normally as wizards could. Gay wizards in a relationship. Gay wizards in a relationship where one wizard was a half-turned, unstudied, were-creature.

Until the day when the Curupira decided to surface fully.   
  
That day, Harry was sitting in on a deposition. He really didn’t think he  _ needed  _ to be sitting in, but the department heads had disagreed, and so here he sat.  It had been the longest, stupidest case he had ever had to deal with, and he was quite decidedly done.

At around the third hour of sitting in the back of a courtroom listening to solicitors drone on and on, Harry felt a sharp the pain hit the back of his neck. He initially ignored the feeling. He had, after all, been sitting in increasingly awkward and inappropriate positions for the better part of a morning; he never had been excellent at sitting still, and having a high level government position had not helped. He always had to sit, and he was always bored. So instead of reacting immediately to the pain, he had pulled out a piece of parchment and began scribbling a note to Hermione, who was sitting beside him, the picture of attentiveness. She must have been uncomfortable, seven months pregnant and wearing both her office robes and her ceremonial Unspeakable cape, but she was being very calm. He didn't exactly know why she had to be here, and he knew better than to bother asking.   
_  
_ _ Arthur? _   
  
She shook her head imperceptibly.   
  
Geoffrey?   
  
Again, head shake.   
  
_ Percival? _   


Finally, Hermione snatched the parchment and scribbled without looking down; it was an impressive skill born of years of pristine note taking. When she threw it back at him angrily, she sent a glare along with it.  
  
_ Seriously?! Are you trying to have your godson be persecuted? _ _  
_

Harry chuckled inwardly. He thought it was a good name.  
_  
_ _ Hey, he was a Knight. He was awesome. Fine. What about a classic. Edward? Charles? _   
  
_ Harry, stop. We've already chosen. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ What?! Tell me! _   
  
_ Not now. Later. _   
  
He had just turned his head to glare back at her when the pain tripled, and his vision turned white. And then he all out panicked. 

The last time his head had hurt this much, there had been an evil overlord occupying a portion of his brain, trying to destroy him. He was always a little wary of headaches, with good reason. He decided later that the panic and not the actual pain had been why he passed out. Regardless, he awoke on cold marble, with the eyes of an entire courtroom trained on him, and Hermione fretting.   
  
"What the hell?” she said, bending awkwardly to touch his forehead. “Are you okay?"   
  
He tried to answer, his vision fading again, "Don't think so. Need to leave."   
  
"I'll come with you,” she said, offering an arm as he stood shakily.   
  
"You don't have to, Mione. I'm-"   
  
"If you end that sentence with fine, I'll wring your neck. Then maybe you'll stop being an idiot.” She held him as much as she could and turned toward the door. “Where are we going?"   
  
"Don't yell,” he muttered, aware that he was barely audible and slurring slightly. “But to the lab. Something is wrong. I can... Feel it. Feel him."   
  
"That's... Hmmm. Okay, let's go then,” she said, squaring her shoulders carefully toward the door and looking very official. The stance had no one questioning them. “Later, you can tell me more. We might need to have more information on that."   
  
When she moved them forward, Harry found the pain was worse when he moved. He could barely focus on the steps in front of him. They got to the hall before he stumbled a bit too much for Hermione to stabilise him. He felt his opposite arm jerked forward by a stronger one.

"Ah, Mr Foray,” Hermione’s voice said above him. “Sorry to delay you, but could I trouble you to help Mr. Potter and I to the lift down to the lab. He's unwell, and I'm not the most use at the moment, I'm afraid."   
  
"Course Ms Weasley. No trouble."   
  
Harry heard this interaction, felt Foray take his arm, felt himself move forward once again. But it was as though these things were happening to someone else. It was off in the distance, through a haze of the pain.   
  
The second the lift door opened in the middle of the potions lab, Harry stumbled forward into the back office.   
  
"Draco?" he called into the open space.   
  
The voice that came back was partly his name, but it was more a groan. He found Draco on the ground by his desk, curled over in clear pain, and the faint smell of sick permeated the room.   
  
"D, what is it. My head... I can't..."   
  
"Dunno, mine too. Come'ere."   
  
Harry bent down and sat behind Draco, who immediately moved back till his head was in Harry's lap.   
  
"Collapsed. Can't remember what happened. Have a fever,” he turned and saw the movement behind him. “Hermione?"   
  
"Stage two hypothesis,” she said quietly.  
  
Harry hadn't heard Hermione come in after him, but sure enough, she now stood nearby, looking concerned.   
  
"What's it mean, 'Mione."   
  
"Stage two hypothesis was that Draco hadn't finished transforming yet,” she said, sitting down on the chair behind them. “That he was in a sort of…incubation stage. Draco, I called Walter a second ago. He should be here soon."   
  
Draco nodded slightly, and Harry moved again to curl up beside him on the floor. His head was still pounding, but his eyesight was back. He felt slightly less sick now that he was here; his breathing returned to normal, and being in contact with Draco was sending a calming, pleasant hum through his body. He wondered, with his last remaining ability to think, if this was how Draco felt when he touched Harry.   
  
When Walter showed up, he found Hermione sitting in a desk chair, seemingly guarding a spooning couple. Harry felt the extra presence in the room and instinctively tensed his arms around Draco.   
  
He opened his eyes and paused slightly. The man standing in front of him was an older version of…   
  
"Walter Thomas…as in…"   
  
"Yes. Dean was my son,” the man said sadly. “Always spoke quite highly of you, Mr Potter."   
  
"He always spoke highly of you sir, even though…"   
  
"Yes, well, I wasn't the best father. I've never stopped regretting that, especially now,” Walter seemed to disappear a moment, and Harry regretted speaking. Finally, the man shook himself off, “But no matter, more pressing troubles exist right now. How are you feeling?"   
  
"Better," answered Draco.   
  
"Good. And Harry?"   
  
"Better, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I get up,” he admitted.  
  
"Ms Granger, can you go fetch that slightly nervous looking fellow who brought me in? He’s pacing in the corridor?"   
  
"Foray? He's a research assistant,” Hermione supplied unnecessarily. “Why?"   
  
"Please,” Walter said shortly.

Hermione blushed, embarrassed for a moment at her need to know everything before she did anything. It made Harry smile that she still did that.  
  
"Course,” she replied, leaving quickly.   
  
When Hermione returned with Foray, Walter smiled and looked at him.   
  
"Hello, young man. I have quite a favour to ask if I could. An excellent opportunity to do some…er, field research."   
  
Foray quivered slightly but nodded. He followed when Walter beckoned him to the corner. He paled, gulped, and nodded once more.   
  
"Harry, Draco, please try to sit up. Stand if you can," Walter said very seriously.   
  
Harry ground his teeth, but he knew that Draco trusted Walter; that was enough of an endorsement for him. It took them both a moment to sit, then stand. When they did, Foray walked slightly closer to Draco, looked back at Walter, who just smiled encouragingly, before walking straight up to him and standing much too close.   
  
"Marcus…" Draco's tone had a note of warning in it, but he didn't move. Not even when Marcus took another step closer, and placed what could only be considered a chaste kiss on Draco's jaw line. Foray was shaking he was so nervous, but Harry didn't see any of that. 

Before he knew what was happening, he felt like he was on fire. He felt lightning in his soul. He heard all the electricity in the room. He saw only the shadowed outline of everything except Foray standing near his Draco.   
  
He felt the rumble in his throat as he snarled, a sound he wasn't sure he was capable of half an hour earlier. He moved faster than he knew he was capable of moving, and his vision once again clouded in a flash of white.   
  
He felt, rather than heard, the words that came from his throat.   
_  
_ _ LEAVE HIM ALONE. HE IS MINE. _   
  
He pushed Foray back, and wrapped himself possessively around Draco, turning his head to watch everyone else in the room, waiting for someone to challenge him. His lips curled in what could only be described as a growl.   
  
Walter nodded and smiled, his expression completely at odds with the situation.   
  
"As I suspected," he said. "Draco, stage two hypothesis was only partly correct. It would seem that instead you two have…bonded entirely, now. It's just caused a bit of pain and drama, just like when it changed Draco.”    


“W-what?” Harry said, coming back down a bit now that Foray was a shaking mess in the corner. “What do you mean?” 

“It would seem that the opposite thing has happened. We predicted that Draco would transform more, but it seems to me that  _ you _ have transformed, Harry, instead of Draco changing anymore.”   


Harry was honestly at a loss, and Walter was apparently unphased.

“Is there any reason why it would be today?" the man asked mildly, academic interest more than anything else.   
  
Draco hesitated, then shook his head.   
  
"Are you sure? I feel like there should have been a trigger of some-"   
  
"Walter," Hermione said softly, eyeing Draco's coloured cheeks. "Don't push them, not right now. Draco, are you okay?"   
  
"I am. Not sure he is," he replied, gesturing to Harry, whose muscles were still tensed, face screwed up in pain. "I think we'll go for the day. I think we are through the worst of it, Walter."   
  
"Yes, just…stay together,” Walter said, obviously itching to ask more and holding himself back.    
“And call me if you need me."   
  
Draco nodded, squared his shoulders, holding Harry up by the waist, and Apparated.   
  
Once he was safely installed in Draco's bed, wrapped in warm, soft blankets, Harry fell immediately asleep, gripping Draco's hand for dear life.   
  
He wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he woke, he was aware of the fact that he had finally let Draco's hand go. And also that regardless, the other man was still there, lying beside him, staring at the ceiling.   
  
Harry rolled over and pressed the length of his body against Draco, who curled his arm around him and brought his face to the top of Harry's head.   
  
"Okay?" Draco asked in that barely audible voice he favoured when he was close to someone.   
  
"Better," Harry replied.   
  
"Head?"   
  
"Hurts a bit still."   
  
"Tea?"   
  
"No. No, don't move."   
  
Draco nodded, Harry feeling the shift on his head. They rested like this, without moving, not talking, for a while. Harry stared up at Draco's enchanted ceiling, pondering the fact that it wasn't possible it was the middle of the night yet, and wondering where Draco was pulling this starry sky from, but not actually asking.   
  
"Draco," he said eventually. "You know why, don't you? When Walter asked, you knew."   
  
"Yes. I know why."   
  
"You aren't going to tell me though,” Harry said, sure he was right.  
  
"What makes you say that?" Draco mused, kissing Harry’s hair as punctuation.  
  
"You just…had this set to your face."   
  
"I,” Draco said, searching for words. “I just didn't want to tell all of them That doesn't mean I'm not going to tell you. First though, are you angry? I'm so sorry about the…bonding thing. I didn't know, I swear. I wasn't trying to trap you."   
  
"You're doing it again,” Harry sighed. “Always apologising for decisions you didn't actually make. I had to accept the bond, remember? I had free will the entire time. Plus, I think it felt kinda cool. Minus, you know, the splitting headache. I feel like I understand how you feel now, when it happens. I got so angry all of a sudden, and then when I was beside you again, I felt like I could breathe, like it was safe."   
  
"But what happens when we break up?"   
  
"Always with the 'when'. Hush. We will cross that bridge if we come to it. If. Now tell me."   
  
Draco paused again, before starting with a sigh, "Today was very boring."   
  
"For me too,” Harry said. “So?”    
  
"I spend a lot of time in the lab waiting for tests to come back,” Draco continued patiently, “And today, I ran out of other tasks to complete while I waited. I was sort of just staring off into space, thinking. And right before I collapsed, I started thinking about having dinner tonight at that place. And I started thinking about…you. And I started thinking that I wanted to tell you…"   
  
"Tell me what, D?"   
  
"Well, it seemed like I should probably tell you…that it was time…"   
  
"Draco. Just tell me,” he said, impatient now.   
  
"Well, I love you, Harry Potter,” Draco said forcefully. “And I figured it was time I tell you."   
  
Harry pulled his head back and grinned up at Draco's slightly flushed, embarrassed face.   
  
"You aren't serious,” Harry said before thinking.   
  
Draco opened his mouth in surprise, fighting to find the words to take it back.   
  
"Draco,” he interrupted. “I was sitting in a deposition bored out of my skull today. I was thinking about tonight too. And I was thinking it was time  _ I  _ tell  _ you _ . It can't be a coincidence, can it…we both come to that conclusion, and then we both collapse in pain? That's the link."

Draco looked incredulous for a moment, before rolling his eyes.   
  
"Merlin, Potter. Do you think our lives could ever just be normal?"   
  
Draco sounded genuinely angry, and Harry couldn't help but laugh as he settled back down onto the familiar indent on Draco's chest.   
  
"Highly unlikely, Malfoy,” he replied, full of mirth and answers and comfort. “For the record, though...love you too. Not going anywhere. Except back to sleep. Are you always this exhausted?"   
  
Harry sighed happily as Draco's hands began to smooth down the hair on his forehead, as he turned back to place his lips against his head, "It gets a bit easier, but sometimes, yes. Sleep. I'll be here."   
  
"Promise?" Harry said, feeling a giant and pathetic sap, and not being able to care.   
  
"Always,” Draco whispered.  
  
_ Mine _ .   
  
Harry's voice was softer this time. More of a purr.   
  
"Yes, Harry. Mine."   
  
Draco slept too. And this time?   
  
This time, there were no nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [ Tumblr](https://professordrarry.tumblr.com)!


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